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DIXIE MARTIN 

THE GIRL OF WOODFORD’S CANON 


BOOKS 

BY 

GRACE MAY NORTH 
ADELE DORING BOOKS 

Cloth. 12mo. Jackets and Illustrations in Colors. 

ADELE DORING OF THE SUNNYSIDE CLUB 

ADELE DORING ON A RANCH 

ADELE DORING AT BOARDING-SCHOOL 

ADELE DORING IN CAMP 

ADELE DORING AT VINEYARD VALLEY 


DIXIE MARTIN 

Jacket in colors and Illustrated. 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 















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. 





















A QUEER-LOOKING GROUP THEY MADE. — Page 40 . 















DIXIE MARTIN 

THE GIRL OF WOODFORD’S CANON 

BY 

GRACE MAY NORTH 


ILLUSTRATED BY ELISABETH B. WARREN 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 











Copyright, 1924, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
Dixie Martin 

The Girl of Woodford’s Canon 



•> _ 

SEP "b 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


*tflonvoo& pre06 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

NORWOOD. MASS. 


©C1A801697 




Dedicated to 

IVERS ASHLEY 

My long-ago school-mate who was 
SO LIKE LITTLE DlXIE MARTIN 





CONTENTS 


OHAPTEB 

I. 

Dixie. 



• 

PAGE 

11 

II. 

New Teacher . . . 

• 


• 

21 

III. 

Neighborhood Gossip 

• 


• 

27 

IV. 

Getting Acquainted . 

• 


• 

38 

Y. 

The Woodford Schoolhouse 

• 

46 

VI. 

Ken’s Secret Sorrow 

• 


• 

56 

VII. 

The Blessing Undisguised 


• 

66 

VIII. 

A Queer Bank . 

• 


• 

72 

IX. 

The “Charity Barrel” 

• 


• 

76 

X. 

Carol’s Choice . 

• 


• 

86 

XI. 

Planning a Way Out 

• 


• 

91 

XII. 

Carol’s New Home . 

• 


• 

96 

XIII. 

Carol in Disgrace . 

• 


• 

103 

XIV. 

The Little Runaway 

• 


• 

109 

XV. 

A Happy Reunion . 

• 


• 

119 

XVI. 

A Joyous Dixie . 

• 


• 

124 

XVII. 

A Defiant Teacher . 

• 


• 

133 

XVIII. 

The Sheep-King Dictates 


• 

140 

XIX. 

Dixie Goes Shopping 

• 


• 

146 

XX. 

Dixie Buys a Silk Dress 


• 

157’ 

XXI. 

Dixie Visits a Friend 

• 


• 

162 


7 




8 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXII. 

Teacher Revolutionizes 

• 

• 

PAGE 

166 

XXIII. 

The Return of Topsy . 

• 

• 

175 

XXIV. 

Dixie’s Lesson in Dressmaking 

180 

XXV. 

Where the Trail Led . 

• 

• 

191 

XXVI. 

Ken’s Quest .... 



196 

XXVII. 

Celebrating .... 



205 

XXVIII. 

On the Trail of a “Bandit” 

• 

209 

XXIX. 

Ken’s Old Friend . 

• 

• 

222 

XXX. 

“Rattlesnake Sam” . 

• 

• 

232 

XXXI. 

An Unwelcome Guest . 

• 

• 

238 

XXXII. 

A Hard Game .... 



248 

XXXIII. 

Rude Little Sylvia . 

• 

• 

256 

XXXIV. 

The Young Engineer Dreams 

• 

263 

XXXV. 

The Pretend Game . 

• 

• 

269 

XXXVI. 

Ken’s Talk With Teacher 

• 

• 

283 

XXXVII. 

Carol’s Birthday S’prise 

• 

• 

288 

XXXVIII. 

The Expected Blizzard . 

• 

• 

302 

XXXIX. 

A Happy Father . 

• 

• 

312 

XL. 

A Mystery Solved . 

• 

• 

319 

XLI. 

A Resolution Broken . 

• 

• 

328 

XLII. 

An Eventful Spring . 

• 

• 

337 

XLIII. 

The Unexpected Guest . 

• 

• 

347 

XLIV. 

Clearing Up Mysteries . 

• 

• 

353 






ILLUSTRATIONS 


A queer-looking group they made (Page 40) . 

Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“Pm going to tell you all about us, Miss Bayley” 136 
“IPs a birthday present from me” .... 298 


The young engineer slowly opened his eyes . .310 



DIXIE MARTIN 


CHAPTER ONE 

DIXIE 

“Carolina Martin, you get up this instant. 
Do you hear me? I’ve called you sixteen 
times already, if ’tisn’t twenty, and this the 
morning the new teacher starts at the old log 
schoolhouse over at Woodford’s. You don’t 
want us all to be late, do you, and have her 
think we’re shiftless, like the poor white folks 
our mother used to tell about, in the moun¬ 
tains down in Tennessee. We, with the bluest 
blood in our veins that flows in the whole 
South! Carolina, are you up?” 

This conversation was carried on in a high- 
pitched voice by a thin, homely, freckled-faced 
little girl whose straight brick-red hair had 
not a wave in it, and whose long, skinny legs, 

showing beneath the gingham dress two years 

11 




12 


DIXIE MARTIN 


too short for her, made her appear as ungainly 
as a colt. 

There was no one else present in the big 
living-room of the log cabin, but the voice 
carried well, and was heard in the loft above, 
where, in a large four-posted bed, another 
small girl sleepily replied, “Oh, Dixie, I wish 
folks never did have to get up, nor go to 
school, nor—” The voice trailed off drowsily, 
and Carolina had just turned over for another 
little nap when she heard her sister climbing 
the ladder which led from the room below to 
the loft where the two girls slept. 

Instantly the culprit leaped to the floor. 
When the red head of Dixie appeared at the 
square opening of the trap-door, the small girl 
was making great haste to don her one piece 
of all-over underwear. 

She smiled her sweetest at her irate sister, 
whose wrath softened, for little Carolina was 
so like their beautiful mother. Even at eight 
years of age she had the languid manner of the 
South, and spoke with a musical drawl. 

But there was no envy in the heart of the 
older girl. She was passionately glad that 


DIXIE 


13 


one of them was so like that adored mother 
who had died soon after the birth of her 
youngest child, who now was four years old. 

The father, an honest, hardy Nevada moun¬ 
taineer, had been killed in a raid two years 
later, and since then Dixie, aged twelve, had 
been little mother and home-maker for the 
other three children. 

Before Dixie could rebuke the younger sis¬ 
ter, a door below opened and a baby voice 
called shrilly, “Oh, Dix, do come quick! 
Suthin’s a-runnin’ over on the stove.” 

“It’s the porridge.” The older girl sniffed 
the air, which conveyed to her the scent of 
something burning. Down the ladder she 
scrambled. 

“Well, lucky stars!” she exclaimed a mo¬ 
ment later as she removed the kettle and gave 
the contents a vigorous stirring. 

“ ’Tisn’t stuck to the bottom, that’s one com¬ 
fort.” Then, whirling about, she caught the 
little four-year-old boy in her arms as she ex¬ 
claimed, “And so our Jimmikins is going to 
school to-day for the very first time.” 

The small head, covered with sunny curls, 


14 


DIXIE MARTIN 


nodded, and his eyes twinkled as he proudly 
prattled: “I’ll stan’ up front and I'll spell 
c-a-t, and everythin’, won’t I, Dixie?'’ 

“Of course you will, pet lamb, and maybe 
the teacher w T ill ask you to recite, and won’t 
she be surprised to find that you know seven 
speaking pieces?” 

While Dixie talked she was dishing up the 
porridge. She glanced at the ladder and 
sighed. Would she have to climb it again? 
What could be keeping Carolina? But just 
then a foot appeared and slowly there de¬ 
scended the member of the family who was al¬ 
ways late. She had been brushing her soft 
golden-brown curls in front of their one mir¬ 
ror. A pretty circling comb held them in 
place. 

Carol wore a faded gingham dress which was 
buttoned in the front, that she might fasten 
it herself. 

There was a discontented expression in her 
violet eyes. 

“I just hate this ol’ dress,” she began fret¬ 
fully. “Jessica Archer doesn’t believe we 
have any blue blood at all, or we’d want to 


DIXIE 


15 


dress like the Southern ladies do in the 
pictures. 7 ’ 

Dixie sighed, and the younger girl, who 
thought only of herself, continued, “If my 
beautiful mother had lived, she wouldn’t have 
let me wear shabby dresses that button down 
the front and make everybody laugh at me.” 

There was much truth in this. Their 
beautiful mother would have been quite will¬ 
ing to mortgage the ranch if only she and her 
children could be dressed in silk and fur¬ 
belows. 

Before Dixie could reply, the cabin-door 
again opened, and in came a boy who was at 
least a head taller than Dixie. His frank, 
freckled face was smiling. He was carrying 
a pail. “Dix,” he said gleefully, “we’re going 
to have a real crop of apples this year. I’ve 
been down to the creek-bottom to see how the 
trees are doing. Maybe they’ll fetch in money 
enough so that you can buy that new stove 
you’ve been needing so long.” 

Carolina tossed her curly head as she 
thought, “Stove, indeed, when I need a new 
dress.” But she said nothing. The apples 


16 


DIXIE MARTIN 


weren’t ripe yet, and she could bide her time. 

They were soon seated around the table, 
chattering eagerly about the new teacher who 
had arrived at Woodford’s the day before, but 
whom, as yet, they had not seen. 

“What you ’spose she’ll be like?” Ken asked 
as he helped himself to the rich creamy goat’s- 
milk, and then turned to pour more of it into 
the big bowl for his little brother, who had 
been hungrily clamoring for porridge. 

Carol sniffed. “I don’t like new teachers,” 
she informed them in a manner much older 
than her years. “They’re always startin’ 
somethin’ different.” 

“You mean that new teachers don’t like 
you” Ken put in with brotherly frankness. 
“They would, though, if you’d ever study, 
which I reckon you never will.” 

“You’d ought to learn all you can, Caroly. 
We all ought to,” the little mother modified, 
“ ’cause as soon as we’re old enough, we’ll 
want to be earning our own living so we won’t 
always be poor and scrimping like we are 
now.” 

Carolina tossed her curls. 


DIXIE 


17 


“ ’T won’t be needful for me to earn my 
livin’,” she said proudly. “Mrs. Piggins says 
I’m the kind that always marries young, and 
I’m goin’ to marry rich, too.” 

Ken exploded with amused laughter. 

“Hear the baby prattle!” he teased. 
“You’d better be thinkin’ about your dolls, 
seems like to me.” 

The all-too-easily-aroused temper of the 
younger girl flared. 

“Ken Martin, you know I haven’t played 
with dolls, not since I was seven years old, 
and now I’m eight.” 

The violet eyes flashed and the pretty lips 
quivered. 

The heart of Ken always melted when he 
saw tears. 

“Oh, I say, Caroly,” he begged. “Don’t get 
a mad on. Honest Injun, cross my heart, I 
won’t tease you any more—er—that is, not 
again this morning, anyhow,” he added, wish¬ 
ing to be truthful. 

Then, knowing from past experience that 
the best way to dry up tears was to interest 
the doleful one in something different, he ex- 



18 


DIXIE MARTIN 


claimed as though he had suddenly thought 
of it: “Girls, what’ll we give as a present for 
new teacher? The fellows were all sayin’ yes¬ 
terday what they’re goin’ to give.” 

The ruse worked like a charm. Carol 
looked across the table at her brother with 
eager interest. 

“That horrid Jessica Archer says there’s no¬ 
body in the school as is going to give new 
teacher as handsome a present as she is. Her 
mother took her over to Reno to pick it out. 
Jessica says as all the other pupils will give 
country presents, but hers’ll be city” 

“Huh!” grunted the older brother. “What’s 
that little minx goin’ to give teacher that’s so 
tine? That’s what I’d like to know.” 

The curls*were shaken* as the owner of 
them replied: “She won’t tell. It’s a secret, 
but she’s boastin’ as it cost more’n all the 
other presents put together’ll cost.” 

“Well, dearie, like as not she’s right,” the 
older girl said soothingly. “Jessica Archer’s 
father’s the richest man anywhere in these 
mountains. You know how folks call him a 
sheep-king.” 


DIXIE 


19 


Then, as Dixie was always trying to have 
her charges see things in the right way, she 
continued: “Anyhow, it isn't the money a 
present costs that counts. It’s the love that 
goes with it.” 

Selfish Carol was not convinced. “I’d 
rather have a blue silk dress ivithout love than 
I would another ol’ gingham like this one 
with—” 

She was interrupted by Ken, who burst in 
with: “Oh, I say, Dix, I’ve just thought of 
the peachiest present. You know that little 
black-and-white kid that came a while ago.” 

The girls had stopped eating, and were 
listening with eyes as well as ears. 

“Yeah, I know, b-but what of it?” Dixie in¬ 
quired. 

The boy’s words fairly tumbled out in his 
excitement. 

“I bet teacher’d like him for a present. I 
bet she would. Like as not, cornin’ from New 
York City the way she does, she’s never had 
a goat for a pet, and this one’s awful pretty, 
wfith that white star on his black forehead.” 

Dixie looked uncertain, “It would be dif- 


20 


DIXIE MARTIN 


ferent, but—” she started to protest, when 
noting her brother’s crestfallen expression, 
she hastened to add, “Come to think of it, now, 
a little goat might be lots of company for new 
teacher, she being so strange and all. 

“You go get the goat, Ken, and saddle Peg¬ 
asus while I tidy up the kitchen and dress 
Jimmikins. Then we’ll all be ready to start 
for school.” 

“I’ve got an ol’ red ribbon that’ll look hand¬ 
some on that little goat’s neck,” Carol told 
them. “That’ll make it look more presentish, 
seems like.” 

“Of course it will, dear. Go get it and give 
it to Ken, though I guess maybe you’d better 
tie the bow. You’ve got a real knack at 
making them pretty.” 

The little mother always tried to show ap¬ 
preciation of any talent that might appear, 
however faintly, in one of her precious brood. 

A moment later all was hurry and scurry in 
the homey kitchen of that old log house, for 
this was a red-letter morning in the lives of 
the four little Martins. 


CHAPTER TWO 


NEW TEACHER 

And the new teacher, what of her? She 
had arrived by stage the night before, after a 
long journey across the country to Reno by 
train, and from there over rough roads of the 
wonderful Sierra Nevada mountains, and, just 
at nightfall, she had been deposited, bag and 
baggage, in front of a rambling old road¬ 
house known as Woodford’s Inn. It had been 
too dark for her really to see anything but the 
deep abyss of blackness below, that was the 
canon through which she had just ridden, and 
the peaks of the rugged range towering above 
her, the dazzling stars that seemed so much 
nearer than they had in the East, and the 
lights of the comfortable and welcoming inn 
toward which the stage-driver was leading 
her. 

Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly, the innkeeper’s 

21 


22 


DIXIE MARTIN 


wife, a thin, angular woman, whose reddish- 
gray hair was drawn tightly back, and whose 
dress was economical in the extreme, as it 
boasted neither pleat nor fullness, appeared in 
the open door, and her greenish-blue eyes ap¬ 
praised the guest at a glance. Long training 
had taught Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly to know 
at once whether to offer a new arrival the best 
bedroom or the slant-walled one over the 
kitchen. 

The sharp, business-like expression changed 
to one of real pleasure when the innkeeper’s 
wife beheld the newcomer. She advanced, 
with a bony work-hardened hand outstretched. 
“Well! I declare to it, if I’m not mistaken, and 
I never am, this here is the new teacher. I 
am Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly of the Wood¬ 
ford’s Inn. Like as not you’ve heard of me. 
I’m that glad you’ve come, Miss Bayley. Do 
you want to go right to your shack, or would 
you rather stay at the inn, where there’s folks, 
until you get used to the strange night 
noises?” 

Miss Josephine Bayley, late of the city pf 

\ 

New York, marveled at the remark, for never 


NEW TEACHER 


23 


before had she been conscious of such intense 
stillness. 

“I have indeed heard of you, Mrs. Twiggly,” 
the girl declared, and truly, for the letter she 
had received from the board had mentioned 
that she would live near the inn. “I’m sure 
that I am going to just adore your wonderful 
mountain country.” Then, realizing that she 
had not replied to the query of her hostess, 
she added, “I am perfectly willing to sleep in 
my own apartment, that is—shack, did you 
call it?” 

The tall angular woman nodded. “Enter¬ 
prise!” she then called to a short, apologetic- 
looking man who was serving sandwiches and 
coffee to the stage-driver in the dining-room 
of the inn. “Fetch the key that’s hangin’ by 
the stove, and maybe you’d better fetch along 
some matches and a candle, too.” 

“Ye-ah, I’ll be there directly.” Which he 
was. Taking a large suit-case in one hand, 
and a lighted lantern in the other, he led the 
way, and his wife followed with another suit¬ 
case. The stage-driver, at the end of the pro¬ 
cession, had a steamer-trunk over his shoulder. 


24 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Mr. Twiggly opened the door and stepped 
back to permit his wife to enter first. This 
she was about to do, when, remembering her 
manners, she, too, stepped back to permit the 
school-teacher to go first, and so it was that 
Josephine Bayley entered the log cabin that 
was to be her home for she knew not how long. 

How she wanted to sink down on the near¬ 
est rocker and laugh, for the mirth within 
seemed determined to bubble oyer, but when 
she glanced at the angular, business-like Mrs. 
Enterprise Twiggly, the new school-teacher 
knew that laughter would be greatly misun¬ 
derstood, and so she managed to remark 
meekly, “I am sure that this will be a very 
pleasant apartment,—that is, I mean, shack.” 

She looked about the large square room, 
wondering where she was to sleep. Mrs. Twig¬ 
gly surmised as much, and, as soon as the men 
were gone, she said rather disparagingly: 
“The last teacher we had was the new-fangled 
kind from down Los Angeles way, and nothing 
would do but she had to have what she called 
a screen-porch bedroom built, and bein’ as she 
paid for it herself, the board couldn’t keep 


NEW TEACHER 


25 


her from doin’ it. Too, she was set on havin’ 
it on the offside from the inn, which seemed 
queer to me. You’d have thought she’d built 
it next to where folks was, but she said she 
liked to feel that she was ’way off by herself 
in the mountains. Howsomever, she always 
kept a loaded six-shooter handy in the 
corner.” 

As she talked, the woman led the way 
through a door, and the. girl, advancing, ut¬ 
tered an exclamation of delight, for she found 
herself on a porch so open that she was hardly 
conscious that there were walls. “Oh,” she 
thought, “blessings on the head of my pred¬ 
ecessor, outlandish though she may have 
seemed to mine hostess!” 

Mrs. Twiggly was eyeing her curiously. 
“You like it?” she inquired, rather hoping 
that she would not. She decided that all 
teaching folk were hopeless, when Josephine 
Bayley turned around with eyes that glowed, 
and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, “I never 
had such a perfectly wonderful place to sleep 
in all my whole life!” 

Mrs. Twiggly’s sniff was not audible. 


26 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“What poor folks she must come from!” she 
was thinking. Aloud she remarked: “Miss 
Bayley, I’ll fetch oyer your breakfast to¬ 
morrow, bein’ as it’s your first mornin’, and if 
you’re scared, fire off the gun twice, but mind 
you aim it in the air. Well, good-night.” 

“Good-night, and thank you for your kind¬ 
ness.” Then Josephine Bayley was left alone 
with the stars and the silence, but somehow 
her desire to laugh was gone. She felt awed 
by the bigness and stillness of things, and 
standing in the darkness in her out-of-doors 
bedroom, she reached her arms toward the 
star-crowned peaks and prayed, “God of the 
mountains, give me here some work to do for 
You.” 


s 


CHAPTER THREE 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 

Josephine Bayley awakened, as all do in 
entirely new surroundings, with the question, 
“Why, where am I?” Then, upon hearing a 
chattering of animal life without, she sat up 
in bed and saw a fir tree festooned with webs 
that sparkled with quivering dewdrops, saw 
two bushy-tailed squirrels gathering cones, and 
heard a meadow-lark singing its joyous morn¬ 
ing-song. The new teacher arose, surprised 
to find that all that night she had not 
awakened. She glanced in the corner where 
stood the sentinel gun. She was sure that she 
should never have need of its services. 

Just as she was dressed she heard a rapping 
on her outer door. Skipping, with a heart as 
light as her feet, she opened it, and beheld Mrs. 
Enterprise Twiggly standing there with a tray. 

She looked exactly as she had the night before, 

27 


28 


DIXIE MARTIN 


only more so, in the full light of all-revealing 
day. 

“Good-mornin’, Miss Bayley,” the woman 
remarked, as she entered the sun-flooded 
living-room of the log cabin and placed the 
tray on the rustic center-table. 

“I didn’t hear any firin’ in the night, so I 
take it you slept through.” 

“I did, indeed,” was the enthusiastic reply. 
“No longer shall I need a pine pillow to woo 
slumber. I don’t know when I have 
awakened so refreshed.” 

Then the girl added with a happy laugh: 
“The truth is, I didn’t know what I was sup¬ 
posed to be afraid of, and so, of course, I 
couldn’t be afraid of it.” 

This remark sounded a little unbalanced to 
the wife of the innkeeper. She had never 
heard that one had to know what to be afraid 
of before he could be afraid. She drew her¬ 
self up very straight as she enumerated: 
“Well, there’s plenty that usually scares ten¬ 
derfoot school-teachers. There’s the coyotes 
howlin’ at night, though they mostly never 
touches human bein’s; an’ now and then 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 


29 


there’s a bear, but worst, I guess, is the parcel 
of Indians over Tahoe way. They don’t do 
much but thievin’. I guess that’s all, unless 
’tis now and then a bandit passin’ this way to 
hold up a train over beyond Reno.” 

Scandalized, indeed, was the wife of the inn¬ 
keeper when she heard the new school-teacher 
laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Twiggly,” the girl ex¬ 
claimed merrily, “I do hope some one of those 
skeery things w T ill happen soon. I’m just 
longing for adventure.” 

This time the sniff of her listener was en¬ 
tirely audible. “Well, I reckon you’ll get all 
the adventure you’re wantin’ before the 
term’s up, Miss Bayley, if you’re kept, and I 
sort o’ feel it my duty to tell you that the 
board of eddication hereabouts is particular 
and persnifity.” 

“Which means?” was what Miss Bayley 
thought. But aloud she demurely asked, 
“Mrs. Twiggly, just what are the require¬ 
ments that I shall have to meet?” 

The wife of the innkeeper bristled, as she 
always did when this subject was discussed. 
“If you mean what you ought to do to please 


30 


DIXIE MARTIN 


the board, I must say it seems like there’s 
nothin’ needed but just to flatter and pamper 
the board’s only child, that forward little Jes¬ 
sica Archer.” 

Miss Bayley’s dark eyes were wide. “Is 
there only one man on the local board of ed¬ 
ucation?” she inquired. 

Mrs. Twiggly nodded. “Ye-ah, and, for 
that matter, there’s only one important man 
in these here parts, and that’s Mr. Sethibald 
Archer. He owns all the sheep-grazin’ 
country round about, and if he don’t own it 
honest, he’s got it somehow.” 

“Sethibald?” Miss Bayley repeated. “I 
never heard such a Christian name as that 
before.” 

Mrs. Twiggly was scornful. 

“Well, ’twa’n’t that in the beginning” she 
said. “It was jest plain Seth, but when they 
got so rich, his wife, who’d alius been Maria, 
went to visit folks in the city, and when she 
came back she had her name printed on bits 
of pasteboard, visitin’-cards, she called ’em, 
though land knows who she’s goin’ to 
visit in these parts, and she said Mrs. Seth 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 


31 


didn’t look stylish enough, so she tacked on 
the endin’. Mrs. Sethibald Archer, that’s 
what’s on the card.” 

Again the new teacher had an almost un¬ 
controllable desire to laugh, but, instead, she 
seated herself at the table and ate the really 
good breakfast, and found that she was un¬ 
usually hungry. The mountain-air surely 
was a tonic. 

As her guest seemed in no hurry to depart, 
Miss Bayley said, “Won’t you be seated, 
Mrs. Twiggly, and tell me some more about 
my duties as school-teacher?” 

“Well, I dunno but I can set a spell,” was 
the reply of the garrulous woman, who had 
“talked herself thin,” as Mrs. Sethibald 
Archer had been known to declare, and which 
may have been true. 

“Please tell me about my other pupils,” 
Miss Bayley continued. 

There was a visible stiffening of the form of 
Mrs. Twiggly. “I’ll tell you first about the 
four children who live down in Woodford’s 
Canon, them as had a shiftless, do-nothin’- 
useful actress for a mother.” 


32 


DIXIE MARTIN 


And so it was that Miss Josephine Bayley 
first heard of brave little Dixie Martin and 
her three young charges. 

“ ’Twas the year of the big blizzard/’ Mrs. 
Twiggly began, sitting so stiff and straight 
that her listener found herself wondering if 
she had a poker for a backbone. “I declare 
to it, there never had been such a winter. 
Too, that was the year they struck silver over 
beyond the canon. It got out that the 
mountains hereabouts were all chock-full of 
payin’ ore, and over-night, it seemed like, a 
minin’-camp sprung up and grew in a fort¬ 
night to be a reg’lar town with houses and 
stores and even a the-a-ter built. You can see 
the ruins of it now when you’re over that way, 
and, havin’ a the-a-ter brought play-actin’ 
folks to Silver City, and mighty big money 
they took in. 

“It came easy, and was spent easy, but all of 
a sudden there was no more silver; the veins 
had petered out, and the gay life of that town 
blew out like the flame on a candle, and then 
it was that some little one-horse show, havin’ 
heard how rich other actors had struck it 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 


33 


there, came trailin’ along, but they was too 
late. 

“They gave their show,—‘Shakespeare,’ they 
called it,—but they gave it to empty benches. 
They’d come over from Reno on the stage all 
dressed up in their hifalutin’ costumes, so’s 
not to have to fetch over their trunks, but they 
didn’t have any money to pay their way back, 
and so they started to walk. 

“Well, one of ’em was a pretty, frail-lookin’ 
young girl, with big round eyes and soft curly 
hair. She wore a long, trailin’ white dress. 
Ophelia, they called her, but she wa’n’t 
strong, and them paper shoes she had on got 
cut to pieces as soon as she began to walk 
along the mountain roads. When they got 
to Woodford’s Canon the man dressed up as 
king saw as she couldn’t walk any farther, so 
he said she’d have to stop at some ranch-house 
and rest till the stage-coach came along. 

“The only house anywhere near belonged to 
Pine Tree Martin. Folks hereabouts called 
him that because he was always sayin’, 
‘Neighbors, don’t cut down the pine trees.’ 
Queer, how that man did love pine trees. He 


34 


DIXIE MARTIN 


had two of the finest ones you ever saw 
growin’ in front of his log cabin, and they’re 
still there. Well, Pine Tree Martin was nigh 
forty years old, and he’d been livin’ alone 
since his ol’ mother died. The king and 
another fellow they called Hamlet went to the 
cabin and knocked on the door. Nobody was 
at home, so they pushed open the door and 
found a fire burning in the stove and supper 
set for one on the table. They carried 
Ophelia, who had fainted by that time, into 
the cabin and put her on the bed, then the rest 
of them made tracks for Reno.” 

The sniff was very audible now. 

Then she went on: “That shows how much 
morals play-actin’ folks have, but I can tell 
you Pine Tree Martin wa’n’t made of no such 
ne’er-do-well stuff. When he found that 
done-up girl with her big round eyes and soft 
curly hair in his house, and heerd how she 
didn’t have a home that she could go to, he 
up and loved her, as only the Pine Tree 
Martin kind of people can love. 

“He married her and took the tenderest 
sort o’ care of her as long as she lived. 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 


35 


Nothin’ he could get was too good for her, and 
she as useless as a—well, a butterfly, I guess. 
An’ what’s more, she was alius talkin’ about 
what blue-blooded folks her relations was. It 
seems their name was Haddington-Alien, and 
they was rich and proud. They had dis¬ 
owned her because she wanted to go on the 
stage and be a star. When Dixie was born, 
she wrote letters to the aunt that had fetched 
her up in the South, but they alius came 
back, and on ’em was written, ‘Unopened by 
Mrs. Haddington-Alien.’ 

“This Mrs. Pine Tree Martin never took to 
Western ways. Her heart was alius in the 
South, an’ as her children were born she 
named them Dixie, Carolina, and Kentucky, 
till the baby came, and she named him after 
the uncle that had fetched her up, James 
Haddington-Alien Martin. 

“In one way it turned out good for Dixie 
to have such a shiftless mother, for as soon as 
that girl could hold a saucepan she began to 
cook for the family. The only thing the 
mother would do was sew, and she made fancy 
dresses for herself and for the other girl, Caro- 


36 


DIXIE MARTIN 


lina, to wear. She never took much pride in 
the two older children. The boy, Ken, was 
the livin’ image of his homely, raw-boned pa, 
and Dixie was a great disappointment, for 
she was a Martin clear through, but Carolina 
was the picture of her ma, and still is, and 
just like her. 

“Well, when James Haddington-Alien Mar¬ 
tin was three months old, the mother died, and 
the father was left with four children, which 
was bad enough, but two years later Pine 
Tree Martin was killed in a raid, and since 
then Dixie, who’s just come twelve, has kept 
house and been mother to the other three,” 
Mrs. Twiggly concluded. 

Then, before Josephine Bayley could com¬ 
ment on the sad story that she had just heard, 
Mrs. Twiggly arose. “I declare to it,” she 
exclaimed, “if ’tisn’t eight o’clock and you’ll 
want to be startin’ to school early. Follow 
the road right down toward the canon, then 
turn toward the mountains a bit, and there 
you are. You’d better not step off the road 
to-day. There’s adders and rattlers here¬ 
abouts. You’ll get so you can tell a coiled 


NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP 


37 


snake from a stone arter you’ve been here a 
spell, but just at first you’d better be keerful.” 

Then when she reached the door with the 
tray she turned to say condescendingly: 
“Pm real glad you’ve come, Miss Bayley. It’s 
mighty nice to have folks as interesting as you 
are to talk to, an’ I do hope the board will like 
you.” . 

She was out of the door when she stepped 
back to add: “Miss Bayley, if it don’t come 
too hard, I’d sort of let it seem like you think 
Jessica Archer is prettier than Carolina 
Martin and smarter than Dixie. It’ll be 
stretehin’ the truth mighty hard, but it’s pol- 
licy. Good mornin’, Miss Bayley.” 

The new teacher, at last alone, put her hands 
to her head as though she felt dizzy. How 
rasping was Mrs. Twiggly’s voice! But a 
moment later she was thinking of the poor 
little children of that stranded Ophelia, and 
looked eagerly forward to her first meeting 
with them. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

It was a perfect autumn day, and lie who 
has not been in the Sierra Nevada mountains 
on a golden October morning has not as yet 
known the full joy of living. 

Josephine Bay ley had been advised to lock 
her door in order to keep out “snoopin’ In¬ 
dians.” She had been shown through a field- 
glass a group of most dilapidated dwellings 
about a mile to the south and down in the 
creek-bottom. These dwellings could not be 
called wigwams; indeed, they were too non¬ 
descript really to be called anything. Some 
had a rough framework of saplings, with pine 
branches for a roof and walls; others were 
made of stones held together with mud, while 
still others were but shiftlesslv erected tents, 
even discarded clothing having been used, and 
all were surrounded by rubbish and squalor. 

38 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


39 


Thus the one-time picturesqueness of the 
Washoe Indian has degenerated. 

“They’re curious and snoopin’, those In¬ 
dians are, but harmless,” Mrs. Enterprise 
Twiggly had said, when advising Miss Bayley 
to keep her door locked while she was away. 

The new teacher, lithe, dark, athletic, 
stepped springily down the mountain road, 
feeling as though she must sing with a lark 
that was somewhere over in a clump of mur¬ 
muring pines. But the first note of the song 
died on her lips as she suddenly stopped and 
gazed ahead of her. 

Had that stone in the road moved, or was it 
her imagination? She gazed fascinated. 
Was it about to uncoil and raise a protesting 
head? Gracious! What was it she had heard 
about rattlers? When they coiled, they could 
spring—how far—was it twice the length of 
their own bodies? Did one have to measure 

i 

them to know how far away one could stand 
in safety? If they were straight out, one 
always had time to escape, for they had to coil 
to strike. But the large round stone that did 
look strangely like a coiled snake did not stir, 


40 


DIXIE MARTIN 

u 

not even when a smaller rock was thrown at 
it. 

Miss Bayley, laughing at her own fears, 
looked down the canon road ahead of her, 
where she beheld a little procession approach¬ 
ing. A light of recognition brightened her 
dark eyes. “Oh, I am so glad!” she thought. 
“Here come the children of Ophelia.” 

A queer-looking group they made. There 
was a soft mouse-colored burro, and on it sat 
a truly beautiful little girl of eight years, hold¬ 
ing in front of her a chubby four-year-old boy, 
who was beaming with delight. A tall, lank 
lad, with a staff in one hand, was guiding the 
beast of burden, while on the other side, with 
pride shining in her eyes, that were a warm 
golden-brown, walked the little mother of them 
all, Dixie Martin. She was carrying a basket 
that held their lunch and leading a very small, 
long-legged goat that had a red ribbon tied 
about its neck. 

As they emerged from the dark canon road 
into the full sunlight beyond the great old 
pines they beheld for the first time their new 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


41 


teacher. They knew at once that it must be 
she, and Ken snatched off his cap, while little 
Carolina, slipping from the back of the burro, 
made a graceful curtsy, just as her mother had 
trained her to do from babyhood. Dixie, too, 
had been trained, but she was a Martin, and 
did not take to polishing as readily as did 
Carol. 

The new teacher hurried forward with 
hands outstretched. She actually forgot to 
examine the stones in the road that might be 
coiled snakes. 

“Ok, you dear little pupils of mine!” she 
exclaimed. “You are the four Martins, aren’t 
you?” 

“Yes, ma’am, we arc,” was the chorused re¬ 
ply; and then it was that Miss Bayley recalled 
that even the best people in the South say 
“ma’am.” 

Carolina, wishing to shine, stepped forward 
and said: “I’ll introduce us, shall I? This 
is my big sister, Dixie Martin, and our baby 
brother, Jimmy-Boy.” Then the small girl 
held herself proudly, as the mother had done, 


42 


DIXIE MARTIN 


as she added, “His real name is James 
Haddington-Alien Martin, after our aunt who 
is blue-blooded in the South.” 

There was a sudden flush in the freckled 
face of the older girl, and she hastened to saj 
apologetically: “Miss Baylev, please pardon 
my little sister for saying that. I’ve told her 
time and again that when folks are truly blue- 
blooded it shows without their telling it.” 
Then she added, as she nodded toward the 
boy who stood waiting his turn, “This is 
our big brother, Ken, and I guess that’s all 
the introducing, unless Pegasus ought to be 
mentioned.” 

“Pegasus?” the new teacher repeated as she 
gazed at the stolid little burro and marveled. 
“Pray, what do you kiddies know about Pega¬ 
sus?” Even as she spoke she realized that 
much that was unusual might be expected 
from the children of Ophelia. 

It was Dixie who said eagerly, “Oh, our 
beautiful mother wrote the loveliest poetry, 
and she used to say that the wonderful winged 
horse, Pegasus, carried her to the Land of 
Inspiration.” 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


43 


Miss Bayley noticed that the small goat had 
not been introduced. Ken, believing that the 
moment for the presentation was at hand, took 
the leading-rope from his sister, and, stepping 
forward, he said, almost shyly: “Miss Bay- 
ley, teacher, we fetched along Star-White as 
your present. We thought maybe you’d like 
him for a pet.” 

It had been said of Miss Josephine Bayley 
that she could rise to any occasion without 
evidencing surprise or dismay, and she surely 
did at this moment. Luckily, her practice- 
work on the East Side in New York had 
taught her to expect the most extraordinary 
gifts from her pupils. 

The four pairs of eyes watched anxiously 
for a moment. Woulck “new teacher” like 
their present f 

Their doubts were quickly put to flight, for 
Miss Josephine Bayley stooped and carressed 
the long-legged, rather startled kid as she 
said with a ring of real enthusiasm in her 
voice: “You dear Star-White, you’re as nice 
as you can be. I just know that I’m going 
to love you.” Then, rising, she held out a 


44 


DIXIE MARTIN 


hand to the two who were nearest, but the 
others were included in her smiling glance as 
she said: “Thank you so much, dears. It 
was ever so kind of you to want to make me 
happy.” Then, a little helplessly, she ap¬ 
pealed to the older boy as she asked, “What 
shall we do with Star-White now?” 

“Fll tie him up in the shed back o' your 
cabin, Miss Baylev. He’ll be all right in 
there.” 

The lad skipped ahead, the kid in his arms, 
but returned in an incredibly short time. 

The procession had continued on its way, 
and Ken soon remarked, “There’s the school- 
house, teacher, down the piney lane, and I 
think there’s folks waiting to see you.” 

Miss Bayley turned and saw, back from the 
road and on a short lane, a log schoolhouse half 
hidden by great old pines. In front of it stood 
a very fine carriage drawn by two milk-white 
horses. At their heads a stockv man with a 
stubby red beard and a keen, alert, red-brown 
eye awaited her. He was the “board of educa¬ 
tion,” of that Miss Bayley was sure, while on 
the back seat of the vehicle, with her bonneted 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


45 


head held high, sat no less a personage than 
Mrs. Sethibald Archer, and at her side, also 
with her head held high, was a much-beruffled 
young girl, aged eight years, who was of course 
the prettiest and smartest child in the school. 
Miss Bayley assured herself that she mustn’t 
forget that, not for one moment, if she wanted 
to stay, and, oh, how she did want to stay and 
get acquainted with the wonderful mountains, 
and the Martins, and maybe even with the In¬ 
dians who lived down in the creek-bottom! 

All this she thought as she walked up the 
little lane toward the old log schoolhouse. 


i 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 

Mr. Sethibald Martin advanced with what 
he believed to be a dignified stride. Without 
removing his hat, he said, “This here is Miss 
Josephine Bayley, I take it—her as has cre¬ 
dentials to teach correct speakin’ and figurin’.” 

A voice from the vehicle was heard. “You’d 
better look at ’em, Sethibald, to make sure. 
I don’t want no teacher that can’t learn my 
Jessica correct x speakin’, such as will fit her 
for the high sphere she is to fill as the daugh¬ 
ter of a sheep-king.” The speech had been 
planned, that the new teacher might at once 
be impressed with the importance of the 
Archers in that mountain community. 

The stubby gentleman seemed actually to 
puff up a bit, “as a toad might,” the newcomer 
found herself thinking, but, remembering his 

present mission, he explained the duties and 

46 


WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 47 


requirements of the position, then added, as he 
glanced almost scornfully at the silent, listen¬ 
ing group of four children and a burro, “It 
sure is onfortunate, Miss Bayley, that the 
pupils from these here parts are so no-account, 
my own Jessica bein’ exceptionated.” 

His glance turned with pride to the snub¬ 
nosed child in the buggy. Then, in a whis¬ 
pered aside: “It’s lucky for you that you’ve 
got one promisin’ pupil like my daughter, 
Miss Bayley. ’Twould be dull work teachin’ 
if you didn’t have nothin’ but dumb young 
’uns like those Pine Tree Martins.” He 
paused, seeming to expect comment. This, 
then, was Miss Bayley’s moment for being 
diplomatic. 

“I am sure that I shall find your little 
daughter a very receptive pupil, Mr. Archer,” 
she said graciously. This time it was certain 
that Mr. Sethibald had puffed. He had never 
heard the word “receptive” before, but it had a 
most complimentary sound. 

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Bayley, you’ll find the 
little sheep-princess all that an’ more, much 
more, ma’am.” He was unctuously rubbing 


48 


DIXIE MARTIN 


his hands as he spoke. Then going to the side 
of the vehicle and holding out a bediamonded 
hand, he added, “Come now, Jessica, darlin’, 
and meet the new teacher, her as is goin’ to 
teach you lots of nice things/’ 

He lifted the small girl to the ground, and 
Miss Bayley advanced, her hand held out, but 
the little “sheep-princess” drew back and clung 
to her father. 

The teacher found herself comparing this 
lack of manners with the natural gracious- 
ness of Carolina, but the father evidently con¬ 
sidered his daughter’s behavior as being 
praiseworthy. 

“Shy little thing,” he commented in another 
of his quite audible asides. “Not bold like 
that Carry Martin.” 

Then the unexpected happened. The little 
girl referred to darted forward with catlike 
swiftness. “My name is not Carry Martin,” 
she cried. “It’s Carolina, and my folks are—” 
She was drawn back and quieted by poor 
Dixie, who looked her misery. Teacher, quite 
at a loss what to say, glanced at the shy and 
model Jessica at that moment and saw her 


WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 49 


sticking out her tongue and tilting her nose 
at the Martins. 

Miss Bayley sighed. There were evidently 
snags ahead, but Mrs. Archer was speaking. 
“Sethibald,” she said, with a desire to impress 
the new teacher with her own great impor¬ 
tance, “it’s time now that you were a-drivin’ 

t/ 

me over to Genoa, where I have to speak in 
front of a mothers’ rueetin’ on how to bring up 
the young.” Then, turning to Miss Bayley, 
she added condescendingly, “Me and you’ll 
be great friends, I’m sure, bein’ as we’re both 
sot on upliftin’ folks in this here neighborhood 
from shiftlessness and ignorance.” 

Before the astonished young teacher could 
reply, the stubby, reddish gentleman had 
climbed up on the front seat, and the restive 
white horses had started off down the pine- 
edged lane at a brisk speed, and Josephine 
Bayley, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, 
led the way into the large bare room of the 
old schoolhouse, where she was to spend many 
a day finding new problems and new pleasures. 
There were ten pupils in all. Two of them, 
Mercedes and Franciscito Guadalupe, had but 


50 


DIXIE MARTIN 


recently come to that mountain country from 
Mexico. 

Their father was the new overseer at the 
Archer ranch, and as yet they had not learned 
one word of English. 

They were brightly dressed, dark-skinned 
little creatures, and each time that the new 
teacher spoke to them, their reply was the 
same, “Muchas gracias> Senorita” which 
sounded very polite, but how was Josephine 
Bayley to teach them reading and spelling if 
neither knew the language of the other? 

Two of the remaining pupils were equally 
hopeless, being the most forlorn little mites, 
children of a trapper who lived somewhere 
over toward Lake Tahoe, but, as Miss Bayley 
was to find, these pupils only came now and 
then, when their trapper-father could spare 
time to bring them, one in front and one back 
of him, on his horse. 

Maggie and Millie Mullet were twins, aged 
six years, and Miss Bayley found as the weeks 
went by that although, after an hour of earnest 
effort, she might teach them to spell such 
words as “cat,” “bat,” “rat,” “mat,” when 


WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 51 


questioned the next day their minds were as 
blank as though they had never heard the 
words. 

The tenth pupil was a very large boy, six¬ 
teen years of age, who was the only son of the 
burly blacksmith over at Woodford’s. He 
studied diligently, and when he once learned 
a thing he seemed never to forget it, and so 
of him Miss Bavley had a little more hope. 
However, his father, the powerful Ira Jenkins, 
Senior, thought Earnin’ ” unnecessary, but 
the mother, having learned to read, pored over 
novels, even when preparing meals, and she 
had decided that her overgrown son should be 
a preacher like the one who came once a 
month from Genoa and held “meetin’s” in the 
parlor at the inn. 

As Miss Josephine Bavley looked over her 
little class that first morning, she felt des¬ 
perately at a loss to know how to begin. Each 
child, it seemed, was studying something dif¬ 
ferent from all the others, and, to add to her 
discomfort, the new teacher realized that the 
eyes of Jessica Archer, which were like her 
father's, were watching her every move as 


i 


52 


DIXIE MARTIN 


though she had been admonished by her 
elders to observe and report all that happened. 

The one bright spot was the corner where 
the wide-awake, intelligent young Martins sat, 
and Josephine Bayley found herself actually 
glad that they were “blue-blooded.” 

Just as the new teacher was becoming al¬ 
most panicky at the newness of everything, 
the slim, freckled hand of Dixie Martin ap¬ 
peared on high, and when Miss Bayley nodded, 
that small maiden arose, and, going to the 
desk on the platform, she said softly, “Please, 
teacher, we usually begin with singing. We 

t 

all know the ‘Good-Morning’ song. I’ll lead 
if you want me to; I often do.” 

“Oh, I’d be ever so grateful if you would.” 

And so Dixie turned around and began to 
sing, in a clear, bird-like voice, a simple little 
melody that the older pupils knew and sang 
with her. There were four stanzas, and when 
the song was finished, the hand of Jessica 
Archer went up, and, rising, she said that as 
she was the smartest pupil in the school, she 
was always asked to read first. 

“Very well, Jessica. My pupils, I am sure, 


WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 53 


will all be glad to help their new teacher to¬ 
day by making suggestions. Now, if you will 
read where you left oft last term, I shall bet¬ 
ter understand how to class you.” 

“Oh, I am class A,” the small girl said 
proudly, “and Dixie Martin and Ken and Ira 
Jenkins are class B, and the rest are class C.” 

“Indeed!” was all the new teacher said, but 
she was thinking that her predecessor had 
evidently succeeded in fulfilling all the re¬ 
quirements of the board. But why, then, had 
she left? Oh, she did recall that Mrs. Enter¬ 
prise Twiggly had said that the last teacher 
had married a prospector, who, for a time, had 
been in the mountains near Woodfords. 

Romance was something that interested 
Josephine Bayley, aged twenty years, not at 
all. She had never been in love and never 
would be, she was sure of that. She was 
going to be wedded to her profession. She 
had never even met a lad who could interest 
her, and surely if she had failed to find one in 
the city of New York, where she had many de¬ 
lightful friends, she would not find him in 
this wild, rugged mountain country. 


54 


DIXIE MARTIN 


And all the while these thoughts were idly 
passing through the brain of Josephine Bayley, 
her “smartest” pupil was stumbling and stut¬ 
tering through a short story in the Fourth 
Reader. It was not until the little girl sat 
down and was casting a triumphant glance 
over toward the Martin corner that the new 
teacher, with a start, awakened from her 
reverie. 

Dixie Martin read next, and with so much 
expression that Miss Bayley was both amused 
and interested. She believed, and truly, that 
the mother’s yearning to be an actress had 
descended as real talent to at least this one of 
her children. 

“Dixie,” the new teacher said, “I wish you 
would remain in at recess. I want to speak 
to you.” 

If there was a jealous tilt to the curly head 
of Jessica, Miss Bayley did not notice it. 
When the others had filed out, for fifteen min¬ 
utes of freedom, the new teacher took the hand 
of Dixie and said earnestly: “Dear, why are 
you reading in a Third Reader? Here is a 
Sixth Reader. See if you couldn’t read that.” 


WOODFORD SCHOOLHOUSE 55 


The gold-brown eyes were glowing. “Oh, 
yes, ma’am, Miss Bayley, I could. I love read¬ 
ing. After supper every night I read to the 
children ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ and ‘Oliver 
Twist’ and the Almanac. That’s all the books 
we have.” 

There was a firmer line about the mouth of 
Josephine Bayley. She had in that moment 
decided that she would tutor at least this one 
of the Martins, out of school-hours. Over her 
free time, surely, the board would have no 
jurisdiction. 


CHAPTER SIX 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 

It was Saturday, which was the busiest of 
the whole week in Woodford’s Canon, for it 
was house-cleaning day in the old log cabin 
which was guarded by two spreading pine 
trees, but this Saturday was especially busy. 

"Carol, please do stop frittering,” Dixie 
called as she turned from the stove which she 
was polishing with as much care as though it 
had been a piano. “Don’t you know who is 
coming to call this very afternoon, and I’d 
feel just terrible, I certainly would, if Miss 
Bayley sat’ on dust, and that’s what she’s 
likely to do if you skip places at dusting, as 
you usually do, and I haven’t time to-day to 
rub them over and see.” 

The younger girl, who had been leaning far 

out the window, supposedly to shake a duster, 

but who had continued to linger there, watch- 

56 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 


57 


ing two squirrels playing tag among the dry 
pine needles, returned reluctantly to the task 
she so disliked. 

“O dear! it’s just mean-hateful being poor 
folks the way we are,” she complained, “and 
having to do our own work with our own 
hands. I’ve heard my beautiful mother say 
so time and again. When she was a girl she 
had two little darkies to wait on her. She 
never had to pick up anything, if she dropped 
it. She didn’t have to even lift a finger.” 

Dixie straightened up to rest her tired 
shoulders, for polishing a stove was hard work 
at best, and almost unconsciously she glanced 
down at her own fingers that were jet-black 
just then, and for a bit of a moment she 
sighed, and was half tempted to think that, 
maybe after all, it would be nice to have noth¬ 
ing to do but sing and read, or live in the out- 
of-doors that she so loved. But a second later 
she was her own optimistic, practical self. 
“Carol Martin,” she announced, “just for that, 
now, w^e’re going to count our blessings. You 
begin! One?” 

“O dear!” the other little maid sighed as she 


58 


DIXIE MARTIN 


knelt to dust the rungs of an old grandfather’s 
chair. “I ’spose I ought to be thankful that 
I’m beautiful, like my mother.” 

Dixie laughed as she whirled about, her ex¬ 
pressive freckled face at that moment being 
far more attractive than that of her prettier, 
younger sister. 

“Of course you should,” she declared good- 
naturedly, “and I’m thankful that I have 
Jimmy-Bov, and here he comes this minute to 
ask me to give him some bread and molasses.” 

The door burst open and the small boy ran 
straight to his little mother, but it was not 
of bread and molasses that he spoke. “Dixie, 
dear,” he said, and his brown eyes were wide 
with wonder, “Buddy Ken is in the old barn 
an' he won’t speak to me or nuffin’. I fink he 
is crying.” 

“Mercy, no, not that! A big brave boy like 
Ken never cries.” However, in the heart of 
the girl who was far too young to be carrying 
so much burden, there was a sudden anxiety. 
She had noticed, for several days, that Ken 
had acted preoccupied, almost troubled. She 
had not mentioned it, for perhaps he was 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 


59 


just figuring how he could sell the apple-crop 
to the best advantage. Yes, surely that must 
be all that was the matter. Dixie went on 
with the polishing. There was just one lid 
to do and then the task would be finished. 

“Run away, Jimmy-Boy,” she said in her 
singing voice. “Play until Dixie is through, 
and then you shall have your nice bread and 
molasses.” 

“Don’t want bread; want Buddy Ken to fix 
my wagon and he won’t speak to me. He’s 
crying inside of him, Ken is.” At this the 
small boy burst into tears. 

The last rub had been given to the stove, 
so Dixie washed her hands, and, kneeling, she 
kissed the small boy as she said: “James 
Haddington-Alien Martin, I guess it’s time 
to ask you to count your blessings. Now, sir, 
begin. Blessing one is—” She paused, but 
she didn’t have long to wait. The clouded 
face brightened and throwing his arms about 
his “little mother,” he cried, “You!” 

The girl held him in a close embrace. 
Then she said: “Carol, dear, please give 
Jimmy-Boy his ten-o’clock bite while I hunt 


60 


DIXIE MARTIN 


up Ken. Pm afraid lie’s worrying about the 
apples.” Carol was glad of anything that 
would relieve her from the hateful dusting. 

Catching her sunbonnet from its place by 
the door, Dixie went in search of her brother 
who was her confidant and dearest friend. If 
he were keeping something secret from her, it 
would be the first time. Then she smiled as 

she thought, “Maybe even Ken needs to count 

* 

his blessings.” Singing to cheer herself, she 
went down the path that led to the old log 
barn. 

“K-e-n! K-e-n! Where are you, brother?” 
There was no response, and since it would be 
impossible for the lad to be in the barn and 
not hear the cheery voice that had called, 
Dixie’s anxiety increased. She entered the 
wide, front door and glanced about. At first, 
coming as she did from the dazzling sunshine 
the girl could not see the boy, who was seated 
in the farthest, darkest corner. His hands 
were over his ears, and that was why he had 
not heard her approach. Truly, he did look 
the very picture of despair. Instantly Dixie 
knew that her surmise had been correct. 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 


61 


Something had gone wrong about the apples. 

Hurrying to his side, she slipped an arm 
over his shoulder and laid her cheek on his 
thick, red-brown hair. “Brother, dear,” she 
said, as she sat beside him on the bench, 
“here’s Dixie, your partner. Please let me 
carry my share of whatever it is.” 

The boy reached out and grasped the hand 
of his sister and held it hard. When he 
looked up, there were tears trickling down the 
freckled face that was so like her own. “Did 
you go to town this morning, Ken?” was the 
question she asked. 

The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I went 
before sun-up. I heard the apple-buyer from 
Reno would be at the inn to-dav, and I wanted 
to be on hand early. I took along a basket 
of apples to show, and I thought they were 
fine, b-but, Dixie, they w-weren’t fine at all. 
W-when I saw the apples from the Valley 
Ranch, I knew ours were just a twisty little 
old cull kind. Tom Piggins w T as there from 
the V.R., and he said our apples are the sort 
they feed to their hogs. I didn’t stay to show 
them to the buyer, I can tell you. I just lit 


62 


DIXIE MARTIN 


out for home, b-but now there won’t be any 
money for you to buy a new stove.” 

“I don’t need a new stove,” Dixie said em¬ 
phatically. “My goodness me, come to think 
of it, I wouldn’t have a new stove for anything, 
now that I’ve spent two hours and twenty- 
five minutes polishing the old one. It looks 
so fine. I’m sure it will feel heaps more self- 
respecting, and I shouldn’t wonder if it would 
bake better, too.” Then her eyes brightened 
with the light of inspiration. “Ken Martin, 
we’ll give it a chance to show what it can do 
right this very minute. You fetch in that bas¬ 
ket of apples you had for a sample, and I’ll 
make an apple pudding, the kind you like so 
much, and we’ll celebrate.” 

“Celebrate? For what?” Ken looked up 
curiously. Was there no end to the cheer¬ 
fulness of this sister of his? 

Dixie was groping about in her mind for 
something over which they might rejoice. 
“Oh, we’ll celebrate because we have a new 
teacher,” she announced triumphantly, and 
the next thought made her clap her hands 
joyfully. “Ken Martin, if it’s what you’d 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 


63 


like to do, I wish you’d go right over to the 
inn and invite Miss Bayley to lunch.” 

Their beautiful mother had always called 
the noon meal lunch, although Pine Tree Mar¬ 
tin could never remember, and had always 
called it dinner. 

Ken rubbed his sleeve over his eyes and 
looked up eagerly. “Then you really aren’t 
so terribly disappointed about the apples?” 

“Disappointed? Goodness, no! I’d feel 
sort of mean selling that old stove of ours 
that’s been so faithful all these years just for 
scrap-iron, and, what’s more, I feel sure all 
this is a blessing in disguise.” Dixie had risen 
and was smiling down at her brother, who 
also rose. 

“Say, Dix,” he said, “you’re as good as a 
square meal when a fellow’s hungry.” Then 
he laughingly added, “But, if not selling the 
apples is a blessing, it sure certain is well 
disguised.” 

“Most things ark blessings soon or late,” 
Dixie said. “Now, Ken, you go and tell Miss 
Bayley we’re sort of celebrating, and we’d feel 
greatly honored if she would come.” 


64 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Then into the house Dixie bounced to share 
her joyous plan with Carol. “Oh, how I do 
hope teacher will come,” that little maid said. 
“Then we’ll be first to have her, and won’t I 
crow over that horrid Jessica Archer though?” 

“You’d ought not to feel that way about 
anybody, Carol, dear,” the older girl admon¬ 
ished as she sat on the doorstep and began 
to pare apples. “If folks are horrid-acting, 
they are to be pitied, because they can’t be 
happy inside. Now, if you like, you may set 
the table with the best, cloth and china while 
I make the pudding and put some potatoes 
in to bake.” 

The violet-blue eyes of the younger girl were 
shining. It was a great treat to her to be 
allowed to open the big old-fashioned cup¬ 
board that held the set of china that had been 
their mother’s. When Ophelia had first come 
to the log cabin, there had been only the thick¬ 
est and most serviceable kind of ware, but 
when Pine Tree Martin found what a hard¬ 
ship it was for his wife to use it, he had sent 
to Reno and had ordered the choicest set tliev 
could procure. This was kept carefully 


KEN’S SECRET SORROW 


65 


locked in the great old cupboard, and used 
only on rare occasions. 

Jimmy-Boy bad been placed in his crib, 
which was in the lean-to room, where also was 
the big four-posted bed in which Ken slept. 
The two little girls chatted happily as they 
prepared for the great event. 

“What if teacher can’t come?” Carol paused 
every now and then to say, and dozens of trips 
she took to the open door to look up the trail 
toward the canon road. At last she gave a 
triumphant squeal. 

“Here comes Ken, and teacher is with him. 
Oh, goodie, goodie, good!” Carol was pirou¬ 
etting like a top. “Won’t I brag it over 
Jessica, though!” 

Then, as the two drew nearer, the small girl 
called excitedly, “Dixie Martin, whatever is 
that thing that Ken’s carrying? It’s wrig¬ 
gling so he can hardly hold it. Whatever can 
it be?’ 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


THE BLESSING UNDISGUISED 

The two girls ran out to meet their most 
welcome guest, the new teacher. Ken, who 
for the moment had stepped behind the mas¬ 
sive trunk of one of the great old pine trees 
to hide, then apeared, and Carol gave a shout 
as she said: “Why, Ken Martin, if you 
haven’t got a little pig! Oh-o, don’t let it 
get away. I’m terribly scared of pigs.” 

No one, looking at the shining, freckled face 
of the boy, would have dreamed that only an 
hour before that same face had been the picture 
of misery. 

“It’s that blessing in disguise, Dix,” Ken 
said, as he triumphantly held up a rather 
skinny and very young member of the porcine 
family. 

“Why, Kentucky Martin, wherever did you 

get that pig?” the older sister inquired. “I 

66 


THE BLESSING UNDISGUISED 67 


didn’t know you had one penny left after you’d 
bought your high-topped boots.” 

“I didn’t buy him, Dix,” Ken declared. “I 
had him given to me.” 

Here was indeed an astonishing statement, 
for pigs were valuable. This one, though, was 
an unusually skinny-looking specimen. The 
boy, believing that he had sufficiently aroused 
the curiosity of the girls, went on to inform 
them: 

“Well, as I was going up toward the inn 
I heard an awful squealing over in Ira Jenk¬ 
ins’s pen, and I ran to see what was the matter. 
Seems that their old sow had always disliked 
this little pig, and wouldn’t let it nurse with 
the others, and so Mrs. Jenkins had been keep¬ 
ing it in the house behind the stove; but the 
blacksmith tripped over it this morning, and 
he said it would have to go back in the pen 
where it belonged, even if the mother-sow ate 
it up, bones and all. Ira had just put it in 
the pen when I came along, but the old sow 
had made for it and in another moment the 
little pig would have been dead, certain-sure. 
Jra just leaned over the fence doing nothing, 


68 


DIXIE MARTIN 


and I said, ‘Aren’t you going to save that little 
pig’s life ?’ And lie answered: ‘No. What’s 
the use? It can’t live in our house, and it 
seems like it can’t live in its own, so it might 
as well be dead.’ Then he grinned and said, 
like he thought I wouldn’t dare, ‘If you can 
save that little pig, you can have it.’ ” 

Dixie’s eyes were wide. “Ken Martin, I 
hope you didn’t get right into that pen where 
an angry old sow was. Don’t you know they 
will turn on a boy just as quick as anything?” 

Ken nodded, and then looked down at his 
overalls that plainly showed that he had not 
escaped without a muddying. 

“Yes, I know,” he said, “but I took a chance, 
and I’m glad I did, for now we own a pig. 
I’ve always wanted one, and, oh, Dix, I’m 
almost glad we didn’t sell the apples.” Then, 
as he held the squealing little creature up to 
be admired, the boy added, “I’ve named him 
already.” 

Carol sniffed. “I shouldn’t think a pig 
would need a name,” she said. 

Ken chuckled. “I’ve named him ‘Blessing,’ 
and now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Bayley, I’ll 


THE BLESSING UNDISGUISED 69 


go and build him a place to live. Carol, will 
you come along and hold him while I'm put¬ 
ting up a fence for his pen?" 

“Me, hold him? I should say not!" and the 
dainty little girl held back her skirts as 
though the very thought of touching the 
creature was contaminating. 

“Maybe I can help," Miss Bayley surprised 
them all by announcing. “I never did hold 
a —we don't have very many of them in 
New York,—but there's always a first time for 
everything." 

The boy’s eyes plainly showed his admira¬ 
tion, and down toward the barn these two 
went, while the girls returned to the house to 
put the finishing touches on the lunch. Half 
an hour later Carol called from the door, and 
a returning shout from Ken carried the mes¬ 
sage, “Come on down, first, and see the pen." 

Hand in hand Carol and Dixie darted down 
the path, and how they laughed when they 
looked over into the very small yard that Ken 
had fenced off. Too, there was a large box, 
open at one side, with fresh straw on the bot¬ 
tom, that would make a fine bed. 


70 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The skinny little pig looked up, almost fear- 
fully, at the four laughing faces that were 
peering over the top rail at him. “After 
lunch let’s get some apples and feed him,” 
Carol suggested. 

Suddenly Dixie thought of something. 
“Why, Ken Martin, we can’t feed your little 
pig apples yet; he’s still taking milk.” 

“That’s so,” said the boy, snapping his 
fingers. Then he added: “I say, Dix, 
couldn’t you find the bottle Jimmy-Boy used 
to have? I can feed him with that, like as 
not.” 

“I believe I know just where it is,” the 
little mother said, “but come now or the apple 
pudding will be done too much.” And so, 
promising the small pig that he would soon 
return, Ken leaped the fence and they all 
went up to the cabin. 

A merry lunch it was, and the apple pud¬ 
ding was done to a turn. Indeed, never be¬ 
fore had the old stove baked so well, and it 
seemed to shine with pride. Miss Bavley de¬ 
clared, and she meant it, too, that she could 
not remember when she had so enjoyed being 


THE BLESSING UNDISGUISED 71 


guest at a luncheon party, and when, at last, 
she announced that she must go, as there was 
a letter to be written before the stage came, 
they all trooped with her to the top of the 
canon road. 

When they were home again, Dixie de¬ 
clared : “There now, Ken, you said this morn¬ 
ing that you couldn’t think of anything to 
celebrate about, and just see what a wonder¬ 
ful day we’ve had. It’s always that way, I 
do believe. When a person feels gloomy, if 
he’d just up and prepare to celebrate, even if 
there’s nothing to celebrate about, something 
will turn up, certain-sure.” 

“You’re right, Dix. You always are,” her 
brother declared warmly. “Two things turned 
up, the pig and Miss Bayley.” 

But a harder problem to solve than that of 
a poor apple-crop was just ahead of brave 
little Dixie. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


A QUEER BANK 

It did seem as though some little imp of 
mischief was trying to worry poor Dixie 
Martin. She had been far more sorry about 
the failure of their apple-crop than she had 
confessed, for, although the old stove would 
do for another year or two, the little mother 
knew that Carol’s best dress was actually 
shabby, and that night, after the small pig 
had been fed with a bottle, to the great de¬ 
light of Jimmy-Boy, and after he and Ken 
were asleep in the lean-to, and Carol in the 
loft, Dixie sat up in bed and listened, to be 
sure than no one was awake. 

The light of the full moon streamed in at 
the small window of the loft, and so she did 
not need to light the candle. Lifting the corn- 
husk-tilled mattress at one corner, she drew 
forth an old woolen sock that had belonged 

72 


A QUEER BANK 


73 


to Pine Tree Martin. Nobody knew how the 
girl, who had inherited so many of his coura¬ 
geous, optimistic qualities, treasured that and 
every other little thing that had belonged to 
the man whom she so loved. Indeed, as 
Carol’s admiration had been all for her 
mother, very much of Dixie’s had been for 
her father, which was not strange, for she had 
been old enough to see how selfish were the de¬ 
mands of the rather weak, though truly beauti¬ 
ful, woman, and how constant were the wil¬ 
ling sacrifices of her father. 

The money in the stocking was Dixie’s sav¬ 
ings for the entire year, and she knew, even be¬ 
fore she emptied the few dimes and nickels 
out upon the counterpane of her bed, that there 
was nowhere near enough to buy Carol a store 
dress, and even if there might be enough for 
material, who was there to make it? Kind 
old Grandmother Piggins on the Valley Ranch 
had made them each a dress two years before, 
the ones that buttoned down the front, but 
now she was dead, and there was no one to 
care for them. 

Slowly Dixie counted. There was just two 


74 


DIXIE MARTIN 


dollars and thirty cents, and Jimmy-Boy 
ought to have a warm coat before winter, that 
is, if he were to go to school. When he didn’t 
go, the other three children had to take turns 
staying at home with him, and when one only 
went to school two days out of every three, 
one couldn’t make as much headway as one 
desired, that is, not if one were as ambitious 
as Dixie. With a sigh that would have been 
perfectly audible had any one been awake to 
hear it, the dimes and nickels were replaced, 
the sock again knotted, and Dixie was about to 
put it under the mattress when she suddenly 
held it close to her, and, looking up at the 
sky, she sobbed under her breath : “Oh, Dad! 
Dad! You’d know just what I’d ought to do. 
How I wish you were here to tell me!” 

Just then Carol turned over, and, fearing 
that she might waken, Dixie slipped the pre¬ 
cious sock into its hiding-place and climbed 
back into bed, but not to sleep, for her thoughts 
kept going over the problem without finding a 
solution. 

Ever since her father had died, Mr. Clay- 
burn, the kindly banker over at Genoa, had 


A QUEER BANK 


75 


sent Dixie twelve dollars a month, which, he 
said, was interest on money that her father 
had left there for his children. The princi¬ 
pal, he had assured Ken and Dixie, was in¬ 
vested in good securities that would probably 
continue to provide for them the princely in¬ 
come of twelve dollars a month. 

During the summer it was not hard for 
Dixie to manage, for Ken raised many things 
in his garden, but in winter, when there were 
warm clothes to buy and no garden to help 
provide, the little mother found it very hard 
to make ends meet, and now it was October and 
there was only two dollars and thirty cents 
in the sock. 

“Well,” she thought at last with a sigh, 
“Carol’s old dress will have to do, and 
Jimmy’ll just have to stay at home from school 
when cold weather comes.” 

It was very late when Dixie Martin closed 
her eyes in restless slumber, but even then the 
little imp of mischief was not satisfied, for, 
when the girl’s gold-brown eyes opened wear¬ 
ily, it was on a day when a still greater prob¬ 
lem was to confront her. 


CHAPTER NINE 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 

It was noon of the day following the lunch¬ 
eon party, and as it was the one Sunday of 
the month on which the Reverend Jonathan 
Cressly held a religious meeting at Woodford’s 
Inn, the little Martins had been attending the 
Sunday school. 

The text had been, “Little children, love ye 
one another,” but the kindly old man departed 
in his rather ancient buggy, drawn by a 
shambling old white horse, with a feeling that 
his talk had not been entirely successful, for 
he had heard one little girl, who was very 
much dressed up, making fun of the Martin 
girls because they wore dresses that buttoned 
down the front. 

“Those Martin children are certainly a 
problem in the parish,” Mr. Cressly had told 
the Home Missionary Society in Genoa, and 

76 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 


77 


the women had collected clothing that they 
thought might fit, and had sent a brimming 
barrel over to the log cabin in Woodford’s 
Canon. That was soon after the father died, 
but, to their unutterable amazement, the same 
driver had brought it back on his cart, saying 
that Miss Dixie Martin wished him to thank 
the ladies, as she knew they meant it kindly, 
and that although she and her sister and 
brothers Tveren’t needing charity, she was sure 
there were many families in the mountains 
that did—the Washoe Indians in the creek- 
bottom, if no one else. 

“Whew-gee!” Lin Crandel, the expressman, 
had ejaculated. “That red-headed gal stood 
up like she was the president’s darter, she sure 
did, but it was the purty curly-headed one that 
spieled the most about how blue-blooded they 
were. Didn’t folks know as they were Had- 
dington-Allens of Kentucky? Whew-gee! 

I kin tell you I felt like apologizin’ for offerin’ 
’em that barrel.” 

Of course, after that the ladies of the Home 
Missionary Society did turn their energies in 
other directions. 


78 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The four little Martins were at home again, 
and Dixie was setting out a cold dinner, for, 
true to the teaching of his orthodox mother, 
Pine Tree Martin had insisted upon one thing, 
which was that Sunday should be kept holy, 
and that no work that was not absolutely 
necessary should be done on that day. Since 
his wife had never worked very much on any 
day, this had been no hardship for her. 

After the simple meal, Ken said that he was 
going to walk over to the Valley Ranch, and 
that they all might come along if they wished. 
Jimmy-Boy was delighted, for if there was one 
little pig in their home sty, there were a hun¬ 
dred at the Valley Ranch. Carol liked to go, 
for Susie Piggins, aged fifteen years, went to 
a boarding-school in Reno, but came home for 
the week-ends. Dixie usually enjoyed hear¬ 
ing Sue tell of her experiences, but to-day she 
said that if the others didn’t mind she would 
like to just stay at home and rest. 

Ken’s understanding brown eyes gave one 
quick glance at his comrade-sister, and not¬ 
ing that she was pale and that she leaned back 
in the big grandfather’s chair as though she 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 


79 


were unusually weary, he decided that it would 
be doing her a kindness to take the other two 
children away for the afternoon. Little did 
he dream that the paleness came from long 
hours awake in the night. 

The three had been gone for some time when 
Dixie was awakened from a light slumber by 
some one calling: “Whoa, there! Here we 
are, Dobbin.” 

Leaping to her feet, though still feeling a 
little dazed from having so suddenly awak¬ 
ened, Dixie opened the door, to see on the 
path the kindly banker from Genoa. At once 
there was panic in the heart of the girl. Why 
was he coming in the middle of the month, or 
indeed why was he coming at all? For the 
past year he had sent the money the first of 
every month by Ira Jenkins, who did his bank¬ 
ing over at Genoa, and was glad, in his gruff 
way, to do a good turn for his little neighbors, 
the Martins. 

Samuel Clayburn climbed out of the buggy 
and smiled at the girl. She invited him to 
enter the cabin with a dignified little manner 
that she had inherited from Pine Tree Martin, 


80 


DIXIE MARTIN 


who had stood as straight and erect as one 
of the trees that he so admired. 

“Won’t you be seated, Mr. Clayburn?” Dixie 
asked, wondering why her knees were shaking 
so that she could hardly stand. 

“I can’t stop but two jiffs, little girl, but I 
thought I’d rather tell you myself than write; 
seemed like a more humane thing to do, as I 
am a father myself.” 

“Oh, Mr. Clayburn,” the child leaned for¬ 
ward eagerly. “Has something happened to 
the money? Is it all gone?” 

Dixie was sitting on the very edge of a 
straight-backed chair, and her folded hands 
were tightly clenched. Mr. Clayburn was 
plainly at a loss to know how to begin. He 
had not supposed it would be so hard to tell 
a small girl that— 

“Little Miss Dixie,” he suddenly exclaimed, 
after having tried in vain to think of some way 
to lead gradually up to the matter of business 
upon which he had come, “please don’t take 
what I am going to say too much to heart.” 
Then his kind, florid face brightened as an 
inspiration came to him. “I have a fine plan,” 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 


81 


he assured her, “a very fine plan which will 
make it all right in the end. I am sure of 
that.” 

“In the end, Mr. Clayburn? The end of 
what?” Poor little Dixie remembered, just 
then, that that was what had been said when 
Grandmother Piggins was dying—“IPs near 
the end now.” 

She gave a little dry sob, and the good man 
took out his big red handkerchief and mopped 
his brow. Then, coughing to clear his throat, 
he began on a new tack. “Dixie, my wife has 
taken a great liking to little Carol. She saw 
her last month over at the county fair, and she 
said then that she’d like to adopt her to grow 
up twins with our little Sylvia. IPs bad for 
a child to be brought up alone, you know,— 
makes them selfish,—and we’re afraid our 
little daughter is beginning to be spoiled, and 
so we’ve had it in mind for some time to adopt 
another little girl if we could find a real nice 
one who needed adopting.” 

For a moment the listener sat as one dazed. 
She could hardly comprehend what the kind 
man was saying, but, when he paused to mop 


82 


DIXIE MARTIN 


his brow again, Dixie exclaimed: “Oh, but 
Mr. Clajburn, I couldn’t give up my little 
sister, Carol. She surely wouldn’t want to 
leave Ken and Jimmy-Boy and me”; but even 
as she spoke, Dixie feared that she was wrong. 
Carol would be eager to go, probably, and what 
right had Dixie to keep her pretty younger 
sister in a log cabin when she might be living 
in that fine big white-pillared house in Genoa 
that was surrounded with a wide lawn and 
beautiful gardens? 

Then it was that Dixie thought of some¬ 
thing, and a little of her father’s keenness ap¬ 
peared in the thin, freckled face as she said, 
“Mr. Clayburn, you didn’t come all the way 
from Genoa on a Sunday just to say that, did 
you?” 

The banker confessed that that had not been 
his original purpose for making the journey. 
“You are right, little Dixie,” he said; “I came 
to tell you that there has been a depreciation; 
that is, the securities in which your father’s 
small principal is invested, are not as valuable 
as they were, and hereafter your monthly in¬ 
come will only be nine dollars instead of 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 


83 


twelve, but, don’t you see, dear child,” the 
kind man leaned forward and took her hand, 
“if Carol comes to live with us, the nine dol¬ 
lars will go even farther than the twelve did 
with four of you?” 

Dixie nodded miserably. Each member of 
the little brood was infinitely dear to her, and 
she was so proud of Carol, who looked just like 
their beautiful mother. 

Looking up with tear-brimmed eyes, she said 
tremulously, “I oughtn’t to stand in her way 
if she wants to go, and more than likely she 
will. She likes pretty dresses and things that 
I can’t get for her, ’specially now, that there’ll 
only be nine dollars a month.” 

The heart of Mr. Clayburn was deeply 
touched and he hastened to say, “Little Miss 
Dixie, don’t you want me to write just once 
more to your aunt down South?” He arose 
as he spoke. 

There was a flash of pride in the eyes of 
the small girl. “No,” she said. “Never again. 
We’re not going to push ourselves in where 
w T e’re not wanted.” 

“You’re right in one way, Dixie,” the banker 


84 


DIXIE MARTIN 


agreed, “but it’s my opinion that your aunt 
doesn’t know that you exist. She has never 
opened even one of the letters. They have 
been returned just as they were sent.” 

“Then she won’t have the trouble of re¬ 
turning another.” The little girl also had 
risen, and, as the banker started toward the 
door, she impulsively held out her hand as 
she said, “Mr. Clayburn, thank you for being 
so kind,—I mean about Carol,—and if she 
wants to go to you, shall I send you word by 
Mr. Jenkins?” 

“Yes, yes,” the portly gentleman said. 
Then, as he placed a fatherly hand on the 
red-brown head of the girl, who somehow 
seemed smaller than he had remembered her, 
he added cheerfully: “It isn’t as though you 
won’t be able to see your little sister often. 
You and Ken and the baby can come and have 
nice visits at our house, and Carol can come 
here.” 

But even to himself this did not ring true. 
Mrs. Clayburn, who was known as a social 
climber, had said that if she took Carol, she 
wished it distinctly understood that Sylvia 


THE “CHARITY BARREL” 


85 


need have nothing to do with the others, who 
were so like that impossible man whom the 
mountain people had called Pine Tree Martin. 

Poor Mr. Clayburn held the trembling hand 
in a firm clasp as he said warmly: “There 
now, little girl, don’t be worrying any more 
than you can help. You’ll be surprised how 
fine things are going to turn out. Good-by. 
I’ll come after Carol when you say the word.” 

As soon as the banker had driven out of the 
dooryard, Dixie threw herself down in the 
big grandfather’s chair and sobbed as though 
her heart would break, but at last she rose, 
washed her face, tidied her hair, and began 
setting the table for supper. The other three 
would soon be returning, and the little mother 
of them all would have to be the one to be 
brave, outwardly at least. But oh, how the 
heart of her yearned for the father whose 
strong arms had always been her haven of 
refuge! But now she, Dixie, must be haven 
for the other three. 

“Here they come,” she told herself. “Now 
w T e’ll talk it over, and Carol may make her 
choice.” 


CHAPTER TEN 


CAROI/S CHOICE 

When the three children entered the big 
living-room of the old log cabin, Ken was the 
first to notice that Dixie had been crying. 

“I knew it, I just knew it!” the boy blurted 
out. “You’re sick or something, Dix. That’s 
why you looked so pale, and why you didn’t 
want to go for a walk like you always do 
Sunday afternoons.” 

“No, Ken, it isn’t that,” the oldest girl said. 
“Get your hats off and come and sit here a 
while. I want to tell you all something.” 

Dixie lifted little Jimmy-Boy and held him 
crushingly close. Then she hid her face 
among his thick yellow curls, that Ken might 
not see the rush of tears to her eyes, for she 
had suddenly thought, “The next thing I know 
somebody will offer to take my baby away from 
me, but, oh, they can’t have him, not if I work 

my fingers to the bone to keep him!” 

86 


CAROL’S CHOICE 


87 


Luckily Ken remembered that the pig, three 
hens, the goat, and Pegasus must be fed before 
dark, and, as it was dusk, he hastened to the 
barnyard. Carol had climbed to the loft bed¬ 
room to put away her one treasure, a hat with 
a pretty flower-wreath on it, and so Dixie had 
time - to dry the telltale tears before they 
returned. 

“Fire ahead, Dix,” was Ken’s boyish way of 
announcing that he was ready to listen. He 
whirled a straight-backed chair about and 
straddled it as he spoke. 

Dixie had not planned what she should say. 
She left it to the inspiration of the moment. 
What she said was: “Mr. Clayburn has been 
over while you-all have been away, and he said 
his wife would like to have Carol go to Genoa 
and live with them and be a sister to their 
Sylvia.” 

If Dixie had hoped that Carol would say 
that she would far rather live in the log cabin 
with them, she was doomed to disappointment, 
for Carol’s pretty face glowed joyfully, and, 
clapping her hands, she cried : “Oh, Dix, how 
wonderful that will be! Just think of the 


88 


DIXIE MARTIN 


pretty clothes Pll have. That old ruffly dress 
of Jessica Archer’s will look like poor folks 
by the side of the dresses I will wear. Why, 
Sylvia Clayburn had on a pink-silk dress at 
the fair. I’d be the happiest girl on earth, 
Dix, if I could have a silk dress and have 
Jessica Archer see me wearing it.” 

Ken had not spoken, but he was watching 
both of his sisters very closely, and the slow 
anger of Pine Tree Martin was mounting in 
his heart. 

Suddenly he blurted, “Let her go, Dix, and 
be glad to get rid of her, if that’s all the 
thanks she’s got to give, after the scrimping 
and going-without you’ve done to buy her 
things.” 

“Don’t, Ken, dear,” Dixie cried. “Carol’s 
not as old as we are, and—she’s different.” 

“I should hope I am different,” the younger 
girl replied, tossing her curls. “I am a 
Haddington-Alien through and through, my 
mother often told me so, and you two are— 
are—” 

“Don’t you dare say it!” Ken warned, and 
Carol, after a quick glance at her brother, 




CAROL’S CHOICE 


89 


thought best not to complete her sentence. 

The boy had whirled the chair away and 
was standing. Looking steadily at the now 
shrinking younger girl, he declared, “Dix 
and I are proud, proud, proud, that we are 
children of our father.” Then there was a 
break in his voice that made even Carol 
ashamed of herself. 

“Oh, I don’t see why we need be mad about 
it,” she said in a wheedling voice, “and I 
should think you two would be glad to have 
me living where I could have nice things and 
won’t have to dust and—” 

Again Ken blurted out with, “Yes, you’re 
quite willing Dix should go on doing all the 
work and bearing all the burden. We’ll be 
well rid of you, I say, and the sooner the bet¬ 
ter.” At that the boy turned and left the 
house, closing the door with a bang. 

The next day Dixie sent word to Mr. Clay- 
burn, and the following Sunday noon, true to 
his promise, the banker reappeared. 

Carol wore her best clothes and had nothing 
to carry. When it came to the moment of 
saying good-bj 7 , Dixie, to outward appearances 


90 


DIXIE MARTIN 


her own cheerful self, kissed her little sister 
tenderly, and Ken said, “So long,” not know¬ 
ing whether he was glad or sorry. Then Carol 
stooped to kiss little Jimmy-Boy, who sud¬ 
denly threw his arms about her neck and held 
her close. “Jimmy loves Carol,” he prattled, 
as he put his dewy mouth up to be kissed. 

For one brief moment the little girl hesi¬ 
tated, then, unfastening the clinging baby 
arms, she ran and climbed into the waiting 
buggy and sat beside Mr. Clayburn. Then she 
smiled and waved. Little Jimmy, not in the 
least understanding what was happening, be¬ 
gan to sob and reached out his chubby arms. 

Dixie caught him up and held him as she 
waved his small hand at the disappearing 
wagon. Then, with a sigh, the little mother 
turned back into the log cabin, feeling very 
much as though there had been a death in 
the family. 

To the very last she had hoped that Carol 
loved them all too much really to leave them; 
but Ken was calling to her, and so, holding 
fast to Baby Jim’s hand, she went out to the 
barnyard to see what he wanted. 



CHAPTER ELEVEN 


PLANNING A WAY OUT 

The evening of the day when Carol had 
ridden away from her log-cabin home to live in 
the handsome colonial residence of the banker 
of Genoa, Ken and Dixie sat up later than 
usual. Ken had a slate on the table in front 
of him. 

“The taxes are twelve dollars a year,” he 
was saying, “so, just as soon as the money 
comes each month, we must put one dollar in a 
safe place.” 

Dixie nodded and then glanced at the tall 
grandfather clock. It was nine. She won¬ 
dered if Ca'rol had remembered to say her 
prayers before she went to bed, and would she 
miss Dixie's good-night kiss. Perhaps not 
that very first night. She’d be so excited and 
interested, everything being so new and 

strange. Never before had the older girl spent 

91 


92 


DIXIE MARTIN 


even one niglit away from any of her little 
brood. She supposed that she might get used 
to it in time, sleeping alone in the loft. 

“Dix, you’re not paying the least mite of 
attention to what I am saying.” Ken’s voice 
was patient, but he was a little vexed, for he 
knew that he, who had always been a faithful 
brother and friend, was being neglected while 
Dixie was yearning for their vain, selfish sis¬ 
ter, Carol. 

“I heard what you said, Ken, dear, honestly 
I did! You were saying it would take two 
dollars to buy a sack of dry beans, and an¬ 
other two dollars for potatoes that we need 
right now. That’s five dollars out of this 
month’s interest, and there’ll be another for 
extra things like salt and sugar. It doesn’t 
look as though there’d be enough to buy a 
coat for Jimmy-Boy, does it? And the cold 
winter will soon be here.” 

The brow of the lad was wrinkled, and un¬ 
consciously he tapped his pencil on the slate as 
he thought. Then suddenly he rose with a 
look of determination that was so like his 
father’s. “Dix,” he said, “I’m not going to 


PLANNING A WAY OUT 


93 


school any longer. I’m going to work, that’s 
what. I’m fourteen years of age now, and 
the law lets you stop then.” 

The girl also had risen, and, placing a hand 
lovingly on the arm of her brother, she said, 
“Kenny, you know that your heart’s set on 
going away to school some day to learn how to 
make roads and bridges and things like that.” 

Ken nodded. “I know,” he said. “Maybe 
later I can go to school again, but just now we 
need money.” 

The lad had been twelve years of age the 
year that the State road had crossed the Sierra 
Nevada Mountains. He had been a frequent 
and fascinated visitor at the camp where the 
civil engineer lived, and Frederick Edrington, 
isolated from people of his own kind, had 
really enjoyed the companionship of the in¬ 
telligent boy, and had taught him many things, 
leaving in the heart of the lad an unwavering 
ambition some day to become a civil engineer. 

When the camp of the road-builders had 
been moved farther and farther west, Ken had 
managed to visit his friend until the distance 
became too great, and at last he had to say 


94 


DIXIE MARTIN 


good-by to Frederick Edrington, who had been 
a greater influence for good in the boy’s life 
than either of them at that time realized. 

Now and then a letter or a picture post¬ 
card had come from the engineer, who had 
been promoted to a government inspecting- 
position which took him to many out-of-the- 
way places. One of Ken’s dearest desires was 
to meet again this friend whom he so admired. 

“Don’t stop going to school yet, Ken, dear,” 
Dixie was saying. “Let’s wait till we get close 
up to trouble’s stone wall, and then, if we 
can’t find an opening in it, we’ll turn back 
and do something else.” That had been 
a favorite saying of Grandmother Piggins. 
“Trouble ofttimes seems like a stone wall 
ahead, but when you get right close up to it 
you find there’s an opening with sunshine and 
gardens just beyond.” 

Ken whirled about and caught his sister’s 
hands. “I’ll make a bargain, Dix,” he said. 
“If you’ll promise not to grieve about Carol, 
I’ll promise to keep on going to school until 
we come to the stone wall and find there isn’t 
an opening.” 


PLANNING A WAY OUT 


95 


Dixie smiled. “I ought to be glad,” she 
said, “because Carol is to have so nice a 
home.” Then she added wistfully, “Pm going 
to be glad, honest I am, just as soon as I get 
over being lonesome.” 

Ken turned away and shook the stove. 
“Girls are queer,” was what he was thinking, 
but it was with unusual tenderness that he 
kissed his sister good-night. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


CAROI/S NEW HOME 

It had been a very excited little girl who 
had driven in between the high stone gate¬ 
posts and had realized that the imposing white 
mansion like house set far back among fine old 
trees, and surrounded by wide velvety lawns 
and gardens, where a few late flowers were 
still blooming, was to be her future home. 
Since the little lass was very like her mother, 
it was not strange that Carol truly believed 
that she was receiving only that which it was 
her right to have. 

Little Sylvia Clayburn she knew not at all, 
and Mrs. Clayburn she remembered vaguely 
as being a very richly dressed woman wdio 
had stopped her at the fair to ask whose little 
girl she might be, and, as usual, Carol’s reply 
had been that she was a Haddington-Alien of 
Kentucky. Later, when Mrs. Clayburn had 

96 


CAROL’S NEW HOME 


97 


heard the story of the four orphans from her 
husband, she had said that she believed this 
little Carol would be the right child for them 
to adopt, since they had decided that their 
precious Sylvia was being spoiled growing up 
alone. 

Nor were they wrong, for Sylvia, pale, thin, 
and fretful, indeed was very much spoiled. 
Whenever she cried, her mother gave her 
candy, and then, of course, she had no desire 
for plain, healthful foods. 

“Sylvia has such aristocratic taste,” the 
proud mother would say. “She scorns such 
plebeian food as bread, and will eat nothing 
but cake.” 

No wonder that the child of such a mother 
should be spoiled and sickly. 

It was late afternoon when Mr. Clayburn 
led Carol into the luxuriously furnished li¬ 
brary, where Mrs. Clayburn, reclining on a 
divan, propped up with many silken pillows, 
was reading aloud to a small girl who was 
dressed in the pale pink silk that had so 
aroused Carol’s envy and admiration. 

Languidly the woman lifted her eyes and 


98 


DIXIE MARTIN 


closed the book when the newcomer ap¬ 
proached. “Wife, here is little Carol who has 
come to pay us a good long visit, I hope,” the 
kind man said. Then to his own little daugh¬ 
ter he added, “S3 7 lvia, won’t you come and 
shake hands with your new sister?” 

Mrs. Clayburn protested. “Samuel,” she 
said, “haven’t I told you time and again that 
hand-shaking is effete, obsolete? It is not 
done now in the best families.” 

Carol, wishing at once to impress Mrs. Clay- 
burn with the fact that she, at least, was of a 
“best family,” was making a graceful curtsy, 
and Sylvia, having received a prompting push 
from her mother, did likewise. 

“As you wish, my dear,” said Mr. Clayburn, 
smiling as though he w T ere much amused. 

“As long as this little lady is welcomed into 
our hearts, I’ll not be a stickler as to what 
outward form is observed,” he thought. Then 
to Sylvia he said, “Miggins, trot along up¬ 
stairs and show your new sister where to put 
her bonnet and things.” 

“I don’t want to,” the small girl said, again 


CAROL’S NEW HOME 99 

seating herself by the divan. “I want Mother 
to read to me.” 

“Of course you needn't go if you don’t want 
to,” Mrs. Clayburn told her. 

Then she said to her husband: “Ring for 
Fanchon. Poor Sylvia is thin enough as it is 
without wearing herself out needlessly climb¬ 
ing up and down that long flight of stairs. 
We really ought to have a lift installed. They 
are now putting them in the homes of the 
b—” 

But Mr. Clayburn had gone. Good-natured 
as he was, he was becoming extremely tired of 
hearing what was done in the best families. 

There was a button in each room in the 
house, which, when touched, rang a bell in the 
kitchen, and the indicator informed the maid 
where her presence was desired, and so it was 
that a moment later a buxom young woman 
in black and white appeared in the library 
door. Her rosy countenance suggested that 
she was Irish, and in fact, when the banker’s 
wife had engaged her, the maid’s name had 
been Norah, but since the best families were 



* > > 


100 


DIXIE MARTIN 


employing French maids whenever they could 
be procured, the name had been changed to 
Fanchon. However, Mrs. Clayburn had 
warned her not to speak within the hearing of 
a guest, as her delightful brogue could never 
be mistaken. 

Carol followed the silent Fanchon up the 
long flight of stairs that seemed velvety soft, 
and into a large, beautifully furnished cham¬ 
ber where there were twin beds. The small 
girl clasped her hands in delight. This, to 
her thought, was the kind of home in which 
she belonged. How happy she was going to be 
there! 

“Will you be after changing yer dress now, 
colleen?” the Irish maid said pleasantly. 
“This here’s the one as the mistress said ye 
were to be wearin’ for dinner to-night.” As 
she spoke she took from a closet one of Syl¬ 
via’s dresses. “That child took a dislikin’ to 
it,” the maid went on to inform the small 
listener, “and not once would she be puttin’ 
it on. Ye’re in luck, colleen, changing this 
quick from gingham to red silk.” 

The “blue-blooded” little girl looked with 



CAROL’S NEW HOME 


101 


horror at the dress. It was silk, but how she 
had always hated bright red. She actually 
drew herself up as she said: “I don’t wish 
to wear it. I wish a blue silk dress.” 

Now it happened that Mrs. Clayburn, on 
second thought, had decided to climb the 
stairs and see just how the little orphan liked 
her new surroundings, and so, holding the 
hand of Sylvia, she had just entered the room 
unseen as this most ungrateful remark was 
being uttered. 

“Indeed, Miss Martin?” she said in a tone 
of mingled iciness and sarcasm. “What can 
you, a mere charity orphan, be thinking of to 
tell what you wish to wear? You ought to be 
humbly grateful that you are being taken out 
of that tumble-down log cabin and permitted 
to live in a house as handsome as any belong¬ 
ing to the best families.” 

For one brief moment a spark of Martin 
pride flamed up in the heart of the small girl. 
Their log cabin was not tumble-down. Only 
that summer an artist from the East had said 
that it was the most picturesque home that 
he had seen in the whole State of Nevada. 


102 


DIXIE MARTIN 


That was when the crimson rambler had been 
a riot of bloom. 

Wisely she said nothing, but meekly per¬ 
mitted the maid to put on the hated red dress. 

The swish of the silk was something after 
all. 

Poor little Carol had not started out well, 
and she was to find that, although she was 
living in a rose-garden, it was not one without 
thorns. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


CAROL IN DISGRACE 

The dinner was one of many courses, and 
there were two very formal guests, and, to Mr. 
Clayburn’s mortification, as well as Carol’s, 
the hostess, wishing to impress the fashionable 
Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis Burrell, from Reno, with 
her philanthropic generosity, told in detail 
the story of Carol’s life, beginning when her 
mother was a stranded actress in the year of 
the big strike over at Silver City. 

The kind man glanced often at the small 
girl whose face was becoming as scarlet as a 
peony. He well knew that he would be pub¬ 
licly rebuked by his wife if he remonstrated 
or attempted to change the conversation, and 
yet were it not better that he should bear the 
brunt of it than this mere child who had been 
invited to come to their home? But, before 

he had time to decide just how best to inter- 

103 


104 


DIXIE MARTIN 


vene, Mrs. Clayburn had reached a point in 
her narrative which necessitated a description 
of the father, who, she informed them, had 
been a no-account rancher, called by the moun¬ 
taineers “Pine Tree Martin.” She said no 
more, for the small girl, with flaming eyes, 
had risen so suddenly that her chair fell back 
with a crash. “ ’Tisn’t so!” she cried, her 
small hands clenched. “ 'Tisn’t so, at all!” 
She had whirled to face the visitors. “He was 
the kindest, best father there ever was to 
Dixie, Ken, Baby Jim, and me.” Then, burst¬ 
ing into tears, she ran from the room and 
groped her way blindly up-stairs and into the 
room to which Fanehon had first taken her. 

She was pulling at the buttons in the back 
of her red-silk dress when she heard a step 
outside the door. It was Mr. Clayburn who 
entered. 

“Carol,” he said, placing a kindly hand on 
the curly head, “don’t be hurt, little girl. 
Mrs. Clayburn is thoughtless, but she can’t 
be really as cruel as she seems. You sit here 
in this comfortable chair by the fire and I’ll 
have the rest of your dinner sent up to you.” 


CAROL IN DISGRACE 


105 


He started away, but he turned back to say, 
“You were right, though, little Carol. I knew 
your father well, and he was the finest and 
most upright of men. Any girl might be 
proud to be his daughter.” 

Then he left the child alone in the room that 
was but dimly lighted, and as she sat there 
waiting the coming of Fanchon, for the very 
first time in her life she felt a real love and 
loyalty for that man whom the banker had 
just praised. How kind he had always been, 
and how gentle. If—if this cruel, wicked, 
Mrs. Clayburn was “best families,” she’d 
rather, oh, a hundred times rather, have her 
own dear, good father, whatever he was. 

Fanchon entered, bearing a tray, and placed 
it on a low table. “Poor little colleen,” she 
said with understanding sympathy. “I’m not 
after envyin’ you much, and that’s the truth. 
I can be leavin’ any hour I choose, as I’d like 
to, after next pay-day; but I’m supposin’ 
you’ll have to stay here to the end of time.” 

Then she went away, and Carol sat staring 
into the fire, thinking of what she had just 
heard. Did she have to stay there for ever 


106 


DIXIE MARTIN 


and ever? Ken wouldn’t want her back, and, 
after all, did she want to go back? Maybe 
things would be better after that night, and it 
was something to be able to wear silk; even 
red silk was better than gingham. The dessert 
was a delicious concoction, and Carol, as she 
ate it, decided that perhaps she had been 
partly to blame that things had started out so 
all wrong. Just then Fanehon reappeared 
and she was leading Sylvia by the hand. 
That little maid looked with big-eyed wonder 
at the newcomer. 

“You’re a very bad, bold girl; that’s what 
my mother says you are; and I’m not going to 
speak to you again till you say you’re sorry; 
and I shall hate you always.” Then she closed 
her thin lips tight and did not speak again 
while the buxom Irish maid was undressing 
her. Later Fanehon unfastened the buttons 
of the red-silk dress, helped Carol to prepare 
for bed, and then turned out the light. 

There had been nothing said about prayers. 
Carol had never in all her short life gone to 
bed until after prayers had been said. When 
Pine Tree Martin lived, he had gathered his 


CAROL IN DISGRACE 


107 


children about him in the warm kitchen and 
had led in the evening prayer, and had read to 
them from the big Bible. Ken did the reading 
now, in memory of his father. 

When Carol was sure that Sylvia was asleep, 
she crept from bed, and, kneeling in the moon¬ 
light, she said the little bedtime prayer that 
Dixie had taught her, and then asked a bless¬ 
ing for each of the three who were in the log- 
cabin home over in the mountains. 

Then she crawled back into bed, feeling 
somewhat comforted, but she never, just 
never, could, forgive Mrs. Clayburn; she was 
sure of that. Suddenly she sat up, thinking. 
What was that Dixie had taught her? Never 
to let the sun go down on her wrath. But the 
sun had gone down, and the moon was up. 
Oh, what ought she to do? After all, maybe 
she had seemed ungrateful. Dixie wouldn’t 
want her to go to sleep without asking to be 
forgiven. 

Creeping out of bed, she stole down the 
wide, velvet-soft stairway, holding her long 
white nightgown in one hand, while she 
grasped the banister with the other. The 


108 


DIXIE MARTIN 


guests were just departing when they looked 
up and saw the small girl descending. 
Mrs. Clayburn was horrified. 

“Go back to bed this instant, you bad, bold 
child!” she commanded, and so, too frightened 
to speak, Carol did turn and go back, to sob 
softly into her pillow until, at last, just from 
weariness, she fell asleep. 

So ended the first day of Carol’s life in the 
home of one of the “very best families.” 



CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


THE LITTLE RUNAWAY 

The next morning Sylvia was unusually 
fretful, and little wonder, for she had had two 
helpings of the rich, creamy dessert the night 
before, and would not eat the wholesome break¬ 
fast which was served to her in bed. 

Carol was told to remain in her room that 
morning as a punishment for the manner in 
which she had misbehaved the night before. 
This message was brought with her breakfast 
by Fanchon. To the surprise of the maid, the 
small girl was up and had on her own old 
dress that buttoned down the front. 

“Oh, I just wanted to put it on,” the child 
said, when the kindly maid expressed her 
surprise. 

“Poor little colleen, I guess ye’re home¬ 
sick, and I wouldn’t wonder at it if you are,” 
was what Fanchon was thinking, but aloud 


110 


DIXIE MARTIN 


she made no comment, as the pale-blue eyes 
of her little mistress were watching her from 
the bed where she sat propped among downy 
pillows. 

All the time that Carol sat at the low table 
eating her mush and milk, she, too, was won¬ 
dering if she could be homesick. Almost un¬ 
consciously her eyes roamed over the creamy 
net curtains and rose-silk draperies, at the 
bird’s-eye maple furniture, and at the wide 
window-seat heaped with rosy cushions. 

Then her thoughts w r andered to the little 
loft bedroom which she and Dixie always 
shared together. There was one small win¬ 
dow, with a turkey-red curtain, a very old- 
fashioned chest of drawers, and in one corner 
sat her doll, Peggotty Ann. Of course she 
was too old now to play with dolls, for would 
she not be nine the very next month? 

She glanced at the little brass bed in which 
she had slept. It was covered with creamy 
net, lined with rose-colored silk. Spread over 
the four-posted bed at home there was a many- 
colored piece-quilt that her grandmother had 
made when she was a bride. 


THE LITTLE RUNAWAY 


111 


Somehow that loft-room seemed more homey 
after all. Fanchon had come to take the 
trays. She asked Carol if she wished to put 
on one of Sylvia’s pretty morning-dresses. 

“No thank you, not yet,” the child replied. 
She walked over to the window and looked out. 
It was a gray, gloomy day. If she were look¬ 
ing out of a window at home, she would prob¬ 
ably see Ken digging around somewhere in 
the garden and whistling. What a jolly 
whistler Ken was! 

Just then Sylvia, unable to longer remain 
unnoticed, said fretfully, “Carol Martin, I 
was just falling asleep, and you made so much 
noise you woke me right up, and my mother 
said I was to sleep all of this morning because 
I am sickly.” 

Carol felt that this was very unjust, for a 
little mouse could not have been more quiet. 
She sat down in a chair by the window, trying 
hard not to cry. Sylvia spoke again, “Well, 
as long as I can’t sleep, you may bring me my 
best doll, and be sure you don’t drop her.” 

Carol looked in the direction indicated and 
saw a beautiful French doll that was nearly as 


112 


DIXIE MARTIN 


big as she was. “Oh, what a beauty,” she 
exclaimed. 

Very carefully she lifted it and took it to the 
little girl in the bed. Then she turned away 
and was far across the room when a shrill 
scream from Sylvia was followed by a crash. 
Sylvia had let the doll slip from the bed. 

“You did it, you horrid beggar-girl,” she 
cried, “and now mv beautiful doll is broken.” 

The door burst open and Mrs. Clayburn ap¬ 
peared. She had hastily thrown on a velvet 
lounging-robe and her hair was down her 
back. 

“Mother,” Sylvia fairly screamed, “she made 
me drop my doll.” 

Again the just wrath of a Martin was in the 
heart of Carol. “You know you’re fibbing!” 
she said almost scornfully. “I’m not going 
to stay here another moment. I’m not! I’m 
not! I’m going right home to-day where folks 
live who are honest, and who l-love me, and 
I’m not going to say I’m grateful ’cause you 
brought me here. I’m not! I hate you. I 
just hate you both!” 


THE LITTLE RUNAWAY 


113 


Dashing to the closet before the astonished 
woman could realize what was happening, the 
girl snatched her best hat from a hook and 
ran from the room. 

The bell for Fanchon sounded through the 
halls. “Stop that child before she gets out 
of this house. Then lock her up in the coal- 
room,was the imperatively given command. 

“Yes, ma’am. Which way was she after 
goin’, ma’am?” the maid lingered to inquire. 

“How can. I tell, stupid! She can’t unlock 
the front door, so she is probably there this 
minute, trying to get out.” 

Mrs. Clayburn was right. That was where 
the Irish maid found her, but instead of taking 
her to the dark, windowless basement-room, 
Fanchon quickly unlocked the front door and 
set her free. 

“Poor little darlint,” the maid thought, as 
she glanced anxiously up the long flight of 
stairs to be sure that she was unobserved, “it’s 
me as is wishin’ I had a log-cabin home in the 
mountains I could run away to.” 

Mrs. Clayburn, at an upper window, saw the 


114 


DIXIE MARTIN 


small figure flying across the lawn. She went 
at once to the telephone and called up the 
bank. 

“Samuel, have that child caught and 
brought back here at once. She’s got to beg 
my pardon and be properly punished before 
she can leave this house.” 

But the banker was busy, and he failed to 
send any one to search for the little runaway, 
and so, though Mrs. Clayburn watched and 
waited, at noon the culprit had not been re¬ 
turned to her. Several hours later her hus¬ 
band called to say that he was going into the 
country on business and would not be home 
to dinner. 

“Poor little Carol,” he thought as he started 
driving toward the mountains, “she probably 
has tried to walk home, but her little legs will 
tire out long before she gets there, and no one 
living along the way except the Washoe In¬ 
dians.” Mr. Clayburn hastened the pace of 
his horse as he thought of this. Meanwhile 
Carol, on leaving the home of the banker, had 
slipped unobserved through side-streets until 
she came to a highway on the outskirts, which 


THE LITTLE RUNAWAY 


115 


she believed led in the direction of her log- 
cabin home. 

She had been to Genoa but once before, and 
that was when she was six years of age, and 
though she knew that she must follow one of 
the side-roads toward the mountains, she was 
not sure which one to take. 

On and on she trudged. The houses were 
very far apart now, and at last there were 
none at all. The child looked very small in¬ 
deed as she crossed the desert-like stretch of 
sandy waste where only sagebrush and a few 
twisted trees were growing. 

At last she reached a crossing, and to her 
joy, a sign-post informed her that Woodford’s 
was but six miles away over in the mountains. 
At least it was a comfort to know that she 
was going in the right direction. The pine 
trees grew bigger and denser and the road be¬ 
gan to ascend. 

The child’s feet were very tired, and, at last, 
she was so weary that she felt that she just 
could not take another step, and so she sank 
down on a boulder to rest. How silent it was, 
save for the moaning of the gentle breezes in 


116 


DIXIE MARTIN 


the pines. The only living thing that she 
saw was a great wide-winged vulture that 
was swinging around overhead in circles. 
Never in her life had the child felt so alone in 
the world, but she was not afraid. The chil¬ 
dren of Pine Tree Martin had never learned 
fear. 

“I must hurry on/’ she thought, as she again 
arose and trudged bravely up the rough moun¬ 
tain road. With feet that would lag, however 
eager she might be to go on, she slowly 
climbed, but, with five miles still ahead, the 
small girl realized that she could walk no 
farther. Sinking to the ground, she curled up 
under a pine tree and began to sob softly. 

Suddenly she sat up alert, listening. She 
had heard the pounding of a horse’s feet 
around the curve that she had just passed. 
Some one was coming! 

She hid behind the trunk of a tree that she 
might see without being seen, and then 
watched and waited. Soon a horse and rider 
appeared. After one glance the small girl, 
with a glad cry, leaped out into the road. It 


THE LITTLE RUNAWAY 


117 


was Tom Piggins riding on a big dappled 
work-horse. He had been to Genoa on an 
errand for liis father, and was returning to 
the Valley Ranch. Never before had Carol 
been so glad to see any one. 

Running out into the road, she waved and 
shouted, “Tom! Tom! Please give me a 
ride !” 

“Why, Carry Martin, what you doin’ here?” 
For once the small girl did not resent being 
called by that much-hated name. The long, 
lank boy continued: “Ken was over to our 
place last night, and he was sayin’ as how 
you’d been adopted by a rich banker. He said 
he was sort of glad of it, you being so selfish 
and hard to live with, but Dixie, she’s been 
sniffling ’round ever since you left, and the 
little kid keeps askin’, ‘Where’s Carol? 
Jimmy wants Carol.’ ” 

Upon hearing this, the small girl sobbed 
afresh. 

“Oh, Tom,’’ she cried, “I don’t want to be 
adopted. Please, please take me home.” 

The blunt boy was nevertheless kind, and so 


118 


DIXIE MARTIN 


he helped the small girl up on the big horse 
in front of him, and, as they rode along, Carol 
told the whole story to sympathetic ears. 

“Gee-crickets !” the boy exclaimed admir¬ 
ingly. “I’m certain glad you had some of your 
pa’s spunk.” Then he added hopefully, 
“Maybe you’re goin’ to change, and get to be 
more like Dixie. Ken’ll like you heaps better 
if you do.” 

Carol said nothing, but in her heart she 
resolved that she would try to be so much 
like Dixie that folks wouldn’t be able to tell 
them apart. 

It was noon when Tom helped the little girl 
to the ground in Woodford’s Canon, and, after 
having thanked him, she started walking 
slowly down the trail toward the log cabin, 
for a dreadful thought had come to her. What 
if she wouldn’t be welcome. What if Ken 
should say, “You left our home and now you 
can stay away.” 

The window nearest the trail was open, and 
Carol thought she would look in before going 
to the door. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


A HAPPY REUNION 

Within the cabin the three children sat 
about the table, eating their midday meal. 
Carol at the window heard Ken say: “Dix, 
this is the second day that you haven’t eaten 
one bite. If you get sick, how on earth’ll 
Baby Jim and I get along?” 

The girl turned from the table and began 
to sob. “I’m sorry, Ken,” she said, “truly I 
am, but I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to 
eat again unless Carol comes home.” 

“Well, I sort o’ wish she’d come, too,” Ken 
declared, blinking very hard. 

There was a sudden warm glow in the heart 
of the little listener. After all, she would 
be welcome. Even Ken wanted her! With a 
glad cry she ran in the open door and threw 
her arms about her sister. Then she pounced 

upon Ken and kissed him. 

119 


120 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“Pm home,” she cried, “and please, please 
let me stay forever and ever.” 

Baby Jim was clamoring for attention, and 
he was caught in a crushing hug while he 
waved his spoon and uttered joyous little 
squeals, although he did not understand 
Carol’s home-coming any more than he had 
her departure only the day before. 

After a time, in which tears and laughter 
blended, Carol cried, “Dixie, I’m ’most starved 
with that long walk and not eating much 
breakfast. I’m so glad you’ve got fried po¬ 
tatoes and baked beans.” 

“I’m hungry, too, now that I take notice of 
it,” the older girl said, her freckled face 
beaming. 

“Well, I thought I’d had enough, but I guess 
1 could take another helping,” Ken declared. 
And so they all sat down, and a merry meal it 
was. 

Oh, how much nicer her own home was, 
Carol thought, where even Baby Jim could 
talk if he wished and not be told that only 
grown-ups should converse at table. Carol 
didn’t tell all that had happened. In fact, 


A HAPPY REUNION 


121 


she didn’t seem to wish to speak of her recent 
experience. She inquired with interest about 
the well-being of the pig and the three 
hens as though she had been away a year. 

Then she asked what had happened at 
school that day. None of them had attended. 
They hadn’t had the heart to do anything, but 
on the morrow all of them would go. 

After the dishes were done, Carol climbed 
to the loft. For some reason that she could 
not explain to herself, she wanted to see her 
old doll. She hadn’t played with it for a year, 
not since‘Jessica Archer had made fun of her 
and called her a.baby for playing with a doll. 

How cosy the loft bedroom seemed, the small 
girl thought as she reached the top of the 
ladder. Those turkey-red curtains, with the 
sunlight shining through them, were very 
cheerful looking. Peggotty Ann was prob¬ 
ably the most surprised and the happiest doll 
in the whole State of Nevada, when, a moment 
later, she was caught up and kissed by her 
little mistress. 

Ken entered the kitchen, and, going to the 
table where Dixie sat sorting the mending, 


122 


DIXIE MARTIN 


he said very softly, that the girl in the loft 
might not hear: “Dix, somethingTl have to be 
done, now that Carol’s back. We can’t make 
ends meet on nine dollars a month, and one 
to be laid aside for taxes.” 

Dixie looked up brightly. “There’s still 
two dollars and thirty cents in the sock, Ken,” 
she said, “and we haven’t reached trouble’s 
stone wall yet.” 

“Dix,” the boy declared admiringly, “you’re 
a brick!” Then he added, with a mischievous 
grin, “and I don’t mean because you’re red¬ 
headed, either.” 

A moment later when Carol, with her doll in 
her arms, looked out of the small window in 
the loft, she saw Ken digging in the garden 
and heard him whistling, and, for the first 
time in her young life, she realized something 
of the contentment and joy contained in that 
one word, “home.” 

Being very, very tired, after an almost 
sleepless night and a long walk, the small 
girl curled up on the husk-filled bed to rest, her 
doll held close. Soon she was asleep, and so 
she did not hear a horse and buggy stop at 


A HAPPY REUNION 


123 


the door. In fact, she never knew that Mr. 
Clayburn had called, but Dixie knew, and 
what that kind man told brought joy to the 
heart of the little mother. 

The banker said that he was glad to inform 
her that he had succeeded that very morning 
in loaning her father’s small principal in a 
way that would bring fifteen dollars a month 
interest. 

He did not tell her that he had loaned the 
money to himself, as he knew that no one else 
would pay so high a rate of interest, and he 
was determined that the wolf should be kept 
from the door of the four little orphans who 
were too proud to accept charity. 

When he was gone, Dixie ran out into the 
garden. 

“Ken! Ken!” she called, and the boy 
thought that never before had he seen her face 
so aglow. “We’ve reached trouble’s stone 
wall, and there was an opening through and 
on the other side is a garden that’s all sun¬ 
shine !” 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


A JOYOUS DIXIE 

The next morning Miss Bayley’s glance 
wandered often to the corner of the room in 
the old log schoolhouse where sat the four 
little Martins. She wondered why they all 
looked so beamingly happy. Little did she 
dream of the exciting events of the day before. 
Not only had the small prodigal returned, but 
their monthly income had been increased, and 
no longer need the little mother scheme, plan, 
and contrive just to make ends meet. Little 
Jimmy-Boy’s much-needed warm coat now 
could be purchased as soon as the money came, 
and that would be at least two w T eeks before 
the really cold weather set in. In fact, there 
were years when November was as pleasant as 
October, and where, in all the world, could 
one find more beautiful autumn weather than 
in Nevada? 


124 


A JOYOUS DIXIE 


125 


When Dixie, as usual, led the opening song, 
her voice rang out with lilting joyousness, and 
when she stood up to read, Miss Bayley was 
charmed with the expression with which she 
interpreted the little story. In fact, so 
pleased was she that she forgot to stop Dixie 
at the end of the second page, as was the 
custom, but permitted her to read the entire 
story of “The Three Bears.” It delighted her 
to note how Dixie’s voice changed when Papa 
Bear or the Baby Bear spoke. 

Then, when the little reader had finished, 
the teacher exclaimed with real appreciation: 
“Dixie, you read that splendidly! You surely 
have a gift.” 

Then it was that she recalled that the 
mother of the Martin children had been an 
actress, and a very audible sniff also reminded 
her of the fact that she was praising some 
one who was not a daughter of the board of 
education. 

The sniff had come from the front seat, cen¬ 
ter, and the sniffer was, of course, the haughty 
little Jessica Archer. That maiden had risen, 
and, with a toss of her corn-colored curls, she 


126 


DIXIE MARTIN 


announced, “Miss Sperry, our last teacher, 
said I was the best reader in this school, and 
my father said yesterday that she was the best 
teacher we’d ever had in Woodford's.” 

Miss Bayley was indignant, and yet, if she 
wished to remain, she must be politic, and 
now that she was so interested in the Martins, 
more than ever did she want to stay. 

“You read very nicely, Jessica,” she told 
the irate little maid, “especially when you are 
thoroughly acquainted with the text. You 
may now read the entire story of ‘Henny 
Penny.’ ” 

Somewhat mollified, Jessica Archer read the 
tale which she knew by heart, forwards or 
backwards, with more expression than was her 
wont. She did not intend to have those no- 
account Martins win more praise than was 
given to her. 

With an inward sigh Miss Bayley assured 
Jessica that she had never before heard her 
read so well, w T hich indeed was true, and then 
she called upon Ken to do an oral problem in 
arithmetic. 

At recess, when the other children had 


A JOYOUS DIXIE 


127 


trooped out of doors to play, Dixie remained, 
and Miss Bayley, who was writing on the 
board, turned to find a pair of eager eyes 
watching. 

“Did you want to speak to me, Dixie, dear?” 
she inquired. 

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Bayley, please, if 
’twouldn’t be interrupting too much. I want 
to ask advice about something that’s very 
secret.” 

The teacher smiled. She believed that she 
was at last to learn the cause of the inward 
glow that radiated from the thin, freckled face 
of the older Martin girl, who was sometimes 
called “homely.” 

But the secret something was destined not 
to be told, for just then Jessica Archer, who 
had missed Dixie from the playground, en¬ 
tered the schoolroom in search of her. Not 
that she desired the companionship of a Mar¬ 
tin, but she did not wish to give Dixie an op¬ 
portunity to be alone with the teacher. 

Miss Bayley frowned, and very softly she 
said: “Dear, can’t you come over to my cabin 
after school to-night? I very much want to 


/ 


128 


DIXIE MARTIN 


have a real heart-to-heart visit with you.” 

"Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, I’d love to. You 
can’t think how I’d love to!” was the eagerly 
given reply. 

Jessica Archer could not possibly have 
heard, and so it was merely a coincidence 
which prompted her to say, "Miss Bayley, my 
mother said I was to tell you to come home 
with me after school to-night and have supper 
at our house.” 

"Thank you, dear,” Miss Bayley replied, 
"I am sorry that I cannot accept. Please 
thank your mother for me, and tell her that I 
had already made another engagement.” 

The young teacher was rebellious. Her free 
time, surely, was her own, and she determined 
that she would do with it as she pleased. 

Dixie was about to protest that she could 
come any other day just as well, but there was 
an expression in her dear teacher’s eyes that 
silenced her. Then as the clock marked the 
hour of ten, Miss Bayley rang a bell which 
ended recess and recalled the small pupils to 
their lessons. Jessica Archer, with another 
toss of her corn-yellow curls, seated herself, 


1 


A JOYOUS DIXIE 


121) 


feeling that she was not being treated with the 
respect that was due the daughter of a sheep- 
king. She was suspicious, and that was why 
she lingered so long after school, rubbing 
imaginary marks from her reader, washing off 
the top of her desk with unusual care, and all 
this time, while the teacher was preparing ex¬ 
amples for the following day, Dixie Martin sat 
on the bench outside of the little log school- 
house, happily waiting. 

At last the teacher’s patience reached the 
breaking-point. Looking up from her work, 
she found the pale-blue eyes of the daughter of 
the board of education watching her. 

“Jessica Archer,” she exclaimed, and the 
degree of exasperation she felt sounded in her 
voice, “will you kindly tell me why you are 
remaining? The afternoon session ended at 
least fifteen minutes ago. l r ou will please 
leave at once, and do not remain after school- 
hours again without asking my permission and 
explaining your reason for wishing to do so.” 

Jessica’s expression was decidedly impu¬ 
dent. “There’s that Dixie Martin staying 
after school.” 


130 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The teacher’s eves narrowed. “She is not in 
the schoolhouse. I have no control over all 
the big out-of-doors. What is more,” and this 
took moral courage, “Dixie is waiting for me 
at my request. Now take your books and go!” 

Miss Bayley had never before been so angry 
at a pupil, for she believed, and truly, that 
she was being spied upon by the small daugh¬ 
ter of Mrs. Sethibald Archer. 

Jessica did depart, but she did not go home 
at once. Having reached a clump of low- 
growing pines near the inn, she hid among 
them to await the return of Miss Bayley to her 
small cabin home. At last she saw her com¬ 
ing, and with her was the hated Dixie Martin, 
and, what was even more shocking, Miss Bay- 
ley was swinging the little girl by the hand 
and skipping; yes, she was actually skipping 
in a way that no self-respecting teacher had 
ever done before. 

Jessica remained in her place of hiding un¬ 
til she was sure that Dixie was going in the 
cabin with the teacher. Then, when she be¬ 
lieved that she was unobserved, she crept out, 
keeping hidden as best she could behind the 


A JOYOUS DIXIE 


131 


sagebrush, until she reached the trail that 
led down to her valley home. 

Bursting into her mother’s room, she be¬ 
gan to sob. Mrs. Sethibald Archer at that 
moment was struggling to write a speech, and 
a very large dictionary lay open on the table 
at her side. 

Her real reason for having invited Miss 
Bayley to supper that night had been to have 
the assistance of the teacher in preparing the 
paper which she was to read on the day follow¬ 
ing in Genoa. Once before Miss Bayley had 
given invaluable assistance, and the ladies had 
greatly praised Mrs. Sethibald on her clear 
and lucid exposition of the subject. Just 
what that meant, the speaker of the day had 
not known, but she was convinced that it was 
praise, and she was desirous of doing equally 
well on the morrow. 

“Do stop crying,^ the weary mother now re¬ 
monstrated, “and tell me where is Miss Bay- 
ley? I didn’t see her coming down the trail 
with you just now.” 

“She—she wouldn’t come, Ma,” Jessica 
sobbed afresh. “She—she treats me awful 



132 


DIXIE MARTIN 


mean. She says that horrid Dixie Martin is 
the smartest girl in the school. She says she 
can read better’n I can. I told her you wanted 
her to come to supper to-night, and she said 
she had another engagement, and—and, ma, 
it wasn’t so. She just had Dixie Martin go 
home with her, that’s all, for I hid and saw, 
and she didn’t act ladylike neither, ma; she 
skipped!” 

Mrs. Sethibald Archer arose, and the expres¬ 
sion in her eyes was not pleasant to see. 
“There’s your pa coming into the barnyard 
this very minute,” she said. “Run right out, 
darling of my heart, and tell him not to un¬ 
hitch. Tell him I'm wishing him to drive me 
over to the inn. We’ll see whether or not my 
requests are to be set aside like this.” 

Jessica ran out to deliver the message, which 
was really a command, and Sethibald Archer 
understood it as such. Then, returning, the 
child asked eagerly: “Ma, I want to go along.” 

“Of course you may go. This thing’s going 
to be settled this very day. I’m not going to 
have any upstart of a teacher refuse my hos¬ 
pitality when I offer it. Indeed not.” 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


A DEFIANT TEACHER 

When Dixie entered the pleasant living- 
room of the little log cabin near the inn, she 
clasped her hands, and her eyes glowed with 
appreciation as she looked about. 

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she breathed 
rapturously, “you’ve got books, haven’t you? 
I never did see so many books all in one room. 
Oh, please, may I touch them?” 

Then it was that the young teacher remem¬ 
bered that the little girl had said that “Oliver 
Twist” and “Pilgrim’s Progress” were the 
only books that she had, and an almanac. 

“Poor little story-hungry girl,” she thought, 
as she removed her hat and turned toward the 
child. “Of course you may touch them, dear. 
I’m going to make us some hot chocolate to 
drink, and you may browse around all that you 
wish. Choose any book that you like and I 

133 


134 


DIXIE MARTIN 


will help you read it. One of my reasons for 
asking you here to-day, Dixie, was to suggest 
that once or twice a week you come with me 
and let me tutor you in advanced reading. 
Then you can take the book home and give the 
same instruction to your brother, Ken. 
There is no reason why you two children, who 
are so unusually gifted, should be held back 
by one of little natural intelligence.” 

Then Miss Bayley entered the lean-to which 
was also her kitchen, and humming to herself 
to endeavor to erase from her memory the un¬ 
pleasant conflict with Jessica Archer, she 
filled the tiny teakettle, lighted the oil-stove, 
and prepared a few dainty sandwiches. 

When she re-entered the living-room, her 
small guest sat on the window-seat, one long, 
spidery leg curled under her, and she held 
two books. The gold-brown eyes seemed to 
have sunshine in their depths as they looked 
up. 

“Ok, teacher, Miss Bayley,” she piped, “it 
was so hard to choose. It's like when the 
spring flowers are in blossom and the valley- 
meadow is all blue and gold with them. There 


A DEFIANT TEACHER 


135 


are so many, and they are all so lovely it’s hard 
to tell which ones to pick. I guess, though, 
that these two would be nice. This one says 
‘Little Women’ on the cover, but that wouldn’t 
interest Ken so much, it being all about girls, 
but this one would, for, in the picture, there 
is a boat wrecked and animals swimming to 
the shore. I’m sure boys would like it.” 

Miss Bayley nodded, beaming her pleasure. 
“You will like that one, too. My brother, Tim, 
and I read ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ through 
seven times when we were your age and Ken’s.” 

Skipping over to the long, home-made book¬ 
shelf, the child replaced “Little Women,” and 
held lovingly the volume of her choice. 

Then a cheerful humming in the kitchen an¬ 
nounced that the teakettle was beginning to 
boil, and Miss Bayley went thither to complete 
preparations for the lunch. 

While they were eating it, the young woman, 
who was little more than a girl herself, hav¬ 
ing graduated from a normal school when she 
was hardly twenty years of age,—and this was 
her first school,—smiled across at her small 
guest as she said: “Dearie, at recess you 


136 


DIXIE MARTIN 


wanted to tell me something. What was it?” 

Dixie’s thin, freckled face became suddenly 
serious. “Fm going to tell you all about us, 
Miss Bayley,” she began, “then I guess you’ll 
better understand.” 

And so the little mother of the Martins told 
to a most sympathetic and interested listener 
the drama which had recently been enacted in 
their log-cabin home. 

“And, oh, teacher, Miss Bayley,” the child 
said, “I never, never could have come to school 
again if my little sister had stayed away. 
She’s all the sister I’ve got to love. I couldn’t 
give up Ken or Baby Jim either, but—but I 
guess a girl needs another girl in a special way 
that boys ean’t understand, don’t you, 
teacher?” 

The young woman nodded emphatically, and 
there were tears close to her eyes. What a 
cruel, hard experience these children had been 
going through, and all alone. 

“I do, indeed, Dixie,” she said. “There are 
so many tasks and pleasures and little confi¬ 
dences that only girls can share with each 



“I’m going to tell you all about us, Miss Bayley. ”— Page 136 


































































A DEFIANT TEACHEK 


137 


other, but I am glad that everything happened 
just as it did, for now Carol knows that her 
own home is best and she will be more 
content.” 

But Dixie looked a bit troubled, and the 
young woman asked: “Dear, what is it? 
Was there something else that you wished to 
say?” 

“Yes, teacher, Miss Bayley, it’s this. Next 
month is Carol’s birthday, and, oh, if only I 
could give her a blue silk dress I’d be the hap¬ 
piest ! She loves pretty things and she’s never 
had anything silk.” Then eagerly, anxiously, 
“Miss Bayley, could I get a silk dress for two 
dollars and thirty cents?” 

The young teacher hesitated not at all. “Of 
course you can, dear girl. That is, you can 
get the blue silk by the yard and then you can 
make the dress.” 

The freckled face that at first had bright¬ 
ened, looked doleful again. The child shook 
her head as she said: “I couldn’t, teacher. 
I don’t know anything about how to put on 
patterns. Grandma Piggins did, and she 


138 


DIXIE MARTIN 


made us the gingham dresses, but she made 
them button in front, and Carol wants buttons 
in the back.” 

“And so she shall have them, dear. Of 
course you can’t use a pattern yet, but I will 
show you how.” Then, before the small girl 
could express her gratitude, the young teacher 
exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, little 
Miss Martin. To morrow will be Saturday, 
and you and I will go to Genoa on the nine- 
o’clock stage, shall we? Then you may choose 
the silk and a pattern. I have some lace in 
my trunk that will do nicely for trimming. 
How would you like that?” 

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, I’d love it! I’ve 
never been to Genoa but once.” Sudden tears 
in the child’s eyes assured Miss Bayley that 
the once had been a sad occasion, as indeed it 
had been, for with her father she and Ken had 
gone to select a coffin for their beautiful 
mother. 

Desiring to change the thought of her little 
guest, Miss Bayley asked, “What color do you 
like best, Dixie?” 

“I like the first green that comes on the trees 


A DEFIANT TEACHER 


139 


down by the creek in spring. It’s like a fairy 
color with silver on it,” the litle girl said. 

Miss Bavley nodded. “That would make a 
pretty silk dress,” she remarked, “but I’d like 
you to have a cashmere dress, the same gold- 
brown as your e.yes.” 

“Me? Oh, I don’t need a new dress, Miss 
Bayley. I don’t mind buttons down the front 
the way Carol does.” 

The young teacher laughed, saying, as she 
rose to clear the table, “We shall see what we 
shall see.” 

Dixie was about to assist when the sound of 
wheels attracted her attention. “Oh, teacher, 
Miss Bayley,”—the child seemed actually 
frightened,—“something dreadful must have 
happened. Here come all the Archers.” 

There was a sudden firmness about Jose¬ 
phine Bayley’s pretty mouth, and an expres¬ 
sion in her eyes that seemed to say, “Let them 

V 


come. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 





THE SHEEP-KING DICTATES 

Miss Bayley opened the door when she 
heard an imperative rap thereon. 

“Oh, good-afternoon, Mrs. Archer and Mr. 
Archer/’ she said graciously. “Come in, won’t 
you, and Jessica? You are all acquainted 
with my little friend, Dixie Martin, and so in¬ 
troductions will not be necessary. Won’t you 
be seated? This is my most comfortable chair, 
Mrs. Archer, and Jessica, you will find room 
over on the window-seat by Dixie.” 

The wife of the sheep-king sat down, but 
held herself rigidly erect. “Miss Bayley,” she 
said, “didn’t you get an invitation to come to 
our house to supper?” 

“Why, yes, Mrs. Archer, but did not Jessica 
tell you that although I appreciated your 
thoughtfulness, I could not accept to-day, as I 
had another engagement?” Miss Bayley was 
calm, and completely mistress of the situation. 

140 


THE SHEEP-KING DICTATES 141 


The older woman sneered. “Engagement?” 
she repeated sarcastically. “How could you 
have any engagements in these here parts that 
couldn’t be set aside when I need your 
services?” 

Miss Bayley’s eyebrows lifted, ever so 
slightly. “I did not understand that you 
needed me,” she said. “I thought that you 
wished to contribute to my pleasure by 
inviting me to supper.” 

Mrs. Archer’s manner changed. “Well, so 
I did in a way, and if you’ll go back with us 
now,” she said, “I’ll call it all right.” She 
knew that unless Miss Bayley did help her, she 
would be unable to read a paper before the 

Woman’s Club in Genoa on the next day. 

« 

For one brief moment Josephine Bayley 
hesitated. Should she defy this woman and 
declare her right to independence at least as 
far as her free time was concerned? A second 
thought reminded her that this would be 
unwise, if she wished to remain in the moun¬ 
tain country; and now, more than ever, she did 
wish to remain, that she might help little Dixie 
Martin, if for no other reason. 


142 


DIXIE MARTIN 


That small girl had risen, and in the pause 
she said shyly: “Teacher, Miss Bayley, I 
must be going. Baby Jim is like to be missing 
me by now.” 

“Very well, dear.” The teacher also rose 
and walked to the door which she opened, and 
then said, loud enough for the listeners to hear 
without effort: “Dixie, be ready to-morrow 
morning at half-past eight. You would better 
come up here, dear, and then the stage will 
not need to stop on the canon road.” 

Then, closing the door and turning back into 
the room, she added pleasantly: “I suppose, 
Mrs. Archer, that you wish me to prepare a 
paper for you. If that is true, I will get my 
hat and coat and accompany you.” 

Her manner, in spite of the graciousness of 
her words and tone, was defiant, and when she 
returned from her screened bedroom, she 
found Mr. Archer, his hands behind him, 
pacing up and down the living-room. 

“Look a-here, Miss Bayley,” he blurted out, 
“my wife and me aren’t at all satisfied with 
your actions. It’s us chiefly that supports this 
school and pays your salary.” 


\ 


THE SHEEP-KING DICTATES 143 


The teacher’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. 
“Indeed?” she said. “I thought this was a 
public school in the Genoa district.” 

Mr. Archer was obliged to confess that, in 
one way, it was. “But it’s my taxes, mostly, 
that pays your salary,” he contended. 

“When taxes are paid into the county treas¬ 
ury, the money is no longer yours,” Miss Bay- 
ley told him. “It belongs to the people to be 
spent for the best interest of the entire com¬ 
munity.” 

The young teacher’s manner was quiet, but 
she spoke as one who knew. 

Mrs. Archer, unable to longer remain silent, 
burst forth with: “You might as well under¬ 
stand, once for all, that Mr. Sethibald Archer 
is boss of this here school, and what he says 
goes. Mr. Samuel Clayburn, the banker, he 
as is head of the board of education over in 
Genoa, told Mr. Archer that as long as every¬ 
thing went along all right, he’d not interfere 
with my husband’s management of this here 
school district.” 

The ponderous woman rose, and her expres¬ 
sion was one of triumph. Mr. Archer nodded 


144 


DIXIE MARTIN 


his agreement. “That’s just what the Hon¬ 
orable Clayburn said, and so, if you’re wanting 
to remain in this here school, you’d better not 
be setting those no-account Martin children up 
over our Jessica. Now, are you coming with 
us, Miss Bayley?” 

To their unconcealed amazement, the young 
teacher mutinied. 

“No,” she said quietly, “I am not. I con¬ 
sider my free time my own to do with as I 
wish, and I do not wish to go anywhere this 
evening.” 

A dull red suffused the face of Mr. Sethibald 
Archer. “Miss Bayley,” he sputtered, “this 
here term ends the middle of December. You 
can pack up your baggage and be ready to 
leave the dav after.” 

“Very well, Mr. Archer,” was the astonish¬ 
ing reply, “if you are still in authority when 
that time arrives, I shall do as you request.” 

When the three were again in their buggy 
and on their way down the valley road, the 
irate man exclaimed : “Such impudence! If 
I’m in authority by the middle of December, 
she’ll leave. Huh, she’ll leave all right! 


THE SHEEP-KING DICTATES 145 


Who else in these here parts has brains enough 
to be governing board of a public school?” 

Mrs. Archer, being a wise wife, smoothed 
his ruffled feelings by remarking: “Nobody, 
of course. You’re the brainiest man any¬ 
where this side of Genoa.” Then she added, 
with a sigh, “I’ll have to give up reading that 
paper to-morrow, and you’ll have to drive over 
and tell ’em I was took sick or something. If 
I was you, I’d stop in at the bank while you’re 
in Genoa, and clinch the matter about dismis- 
sin’ that upstart of a Miss Bayley.” 

“That’s just what I’ll do!” Mr. Archer 
agreed, as he drove into his barnyard. 

They had forgotten that on the next day the 
teacher and Dixie Martin were also going to 
Genoa. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 

Dixie was awake on the eventful Saturday 
morning as soon as the first bird-note was 
heard underneath the wide-spreading eaves. 
Quietly she slipped from bed, hoping not to 
awaken the little curly-headed sleeper at her 
side, but, just as she was buttoning up her 
best gingham dress, Carol opened dazed blue 
eyes and looked about. 

“Why, Dixie Martin, what for are you up so 
early?’’ was the puzzled query, but almost in¬ 
stantly the little girl remembered, and at once 
she began to climb out of bed. 

“Oh, I know,” she prattled, “this is the day 
that you go to Genoa with Miss Bayley, and 
I am to be ‘little mother’ to Baby Jim and 
Ken.” 

In another moment the arms of the older 
girl were about her, and the flushed cheeks 

146 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 


147 


were being kissed as Dixie exclaimed, “Carol, 
it’s so nice of you not to mind my going and 
leaving you at home, but some day, I’m just 
sure, it will be your turn to go and see the 
shops, and—and everything.” 

There was joy in the heart of Dixie as she 
descended the ladder that led from their loft 
bedroom. How Carol had changed! Just one 
short month ago she would have sulked if 
Dixie were to be given some pleasure that she 
had not been asked to share, but to-day the 
small girl was actually getting up hours 
earlier than usual, that she might be a real 
help in the little home, and that Dixie need 
not be all tired out before starting on her 
wonderful journey. But, early as these two 
little maids were astir, Ken was ahead of them, 
and, just as the potatoes and bacon were siz¬ 
zling for breakfast, in he came with a pail of 
milk. 

“Girls,” he cried jubilantly, twirling his cap 
so dexterously that it caught on the hook by 
the door, just as he wished it to do, “some¬ 
thing’s happened. Something jolly! Guess 
what.” 


148 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The sisters looked interested but did not 
venture a guess. 

“Blessing is weaned!” was the astonishing 
announcement. “He wriggled out of his pen 
in the night I guess. I was awful panicky at 
first, thinkin’ like as not he was lost, but 
where d’you think I found him? In the shed, 
eating apples.” 

“Well, I’m glad,” Carol remarked as she 
continued with her task, “we won’t have to 
bother any more about feeding him with a 
bottle.” 

Dixie sighed, “I was hoping you’d say my 
cat had come back. She’s been gone three 
weeks if it’s a day.” 

Ken laughed as he turned the milk through 
a sieve. “Cats always come back, sis,” he 
said encouragingly. Then, for a moment, he 
was silent as he plunged his face into a deep 
basin of cool water from the pump, but later, 
when he was rubbing vigorously with a rough 
towel, he winked one eye at Carol as he 
added: “Even if Topsy never comes back, 
it’s small loss. The world is full of cats.” 
He said it to tease, for well he knew his 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 


149 


sister’s devotion to that particular black cat. 
The expected retort came: 

“Why, Ken Martin, how can you say that, 
when you know there’s only one Topsy cat? 
You might as well say that if Baby Jim went 
away, it wouldn’t matter, ’cause the world 
is full of babies.” 

Carol pretended to be indignant. “Dixie, 
how can you speak of cats and our baby all in 
one breath?” 

A small voice arose in the next room, and 
the little mother flew thitherward, to return a 
moment later with a sleepy, flushed little four- 
year-old, who was covered with a long pink- 
flannel nightie. His golden curls were 
towsled, and when the little maid had seated 
herself and cuddled him on her lap, he beamed 
around at them all, but looked up into the face 
that was bending over him with his sweetest 
smile. Then, lifting his warm little hand, he 
patted her freckled cheek as he prattled, 
“Jimmy-Boy loves Dixie.” 

Almost convulsively the girl held him close. 
“Oh, Baby Jim,” she said, “I’m awfully sorry 
I said that about cats, for even if the world 


150 


DIXIE MARTIN 


is full of babies, after all, there’s only just 
one.” 

An hour later Carol looked at the clock. 
“You’d better hurry, Dix,” she said. “You 
wouldn’t want to miss the stage.” 

And hurry the little maid did, and at eight 
o’clock promptly she set off up the canon trail 
with a song singing in her heart, and with feet 
that could hardly be kept from dancing. 

Josephine Bayley was just finishing her 
breakfast when a tap came upon her door. 
With the girlish skip which had so shocked 
prim little Miss Archer, she went to open it, 
and, as she had supposed, she found Dixie, 
her freckled face aglow, standing outside. 

She was wearing a very pretty leghorn hat 
wreathed with daisies. 

“Why, Dixie, how nice you look!” the young 
woman exclaimed. “Come in, dear. We can 
see the stage when it comes up the valley road. 
What a pretty hat you have.” 

The girl flushed. “ ’Tisn’t mine, teacher,” 
she confessed. “It belongs to Carol, but she 
just made me wear it.” Then she added in a 
burst of confidence: “Carol’s changed a lot 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 


151 


since she went away to be ’dopted. Before 
that she never would let me even put this hat 
on in front of the mirror, let alone wear it 
outdoors, but this morning, when I was put¬ 
ting on my old hat that got caught in the rain 
last spring and sort of limped, she came right 
up and took it away, and then, before I knew 
what she was up to, she slipped back of me 
and put her treasure-hat right on my head, 
and when I said something might happen to it, 
she said, ‘All right, let it,’ but that she wasn't 
going to have her big sister go to town in a hat 
that looked as though Biddy-hen had used it 
for a nest.” 

There were sudden tears in the eyes of the 
little girl. “Oh, teacher/’ she confided, “I did 
think that I always loved Carol as much as 
ever I could, but I’m loving her more every 
day, and Ken, too. He said last night, ‘Gee, 
sis. I’m glad now Carol went away to be 
’dopted, for I’m so glad she came back.’ ” 

“She is a dear, sweet girl,” Miss Bayley 
said, “and it was nice for her to want you to 
wear the hat which she so treasures, but I’m 
sure that nothing will happen to it, for there 


152 


DIXIE MARTIN 


isn’t a cloud in tlie blue, blue sky, and we’re 
not expecting whirlwinds to carry it away.’' 

While they talked, Miss Bayley washed the 
few dishes and then Dixie helped her spread 
the bed in the screened-in porch, which was 
still a joy to the girl who had lived her twenty 
years in crowded New York. 

Just as the last little pat was given to the 
pillow, a distant rumbling was heard, and 
Dixie ran to the front window of the cabin 
and looked down the valley road. “It’s com¬ 
ing, teacher, Miss Bayley. The stage is 'most 
here!” 

Josephine Bayley felt as though she were a 
girl again, a very young girl. Dixie’s excite¬ 
ment was contagious. Donning her hat and 
jacket, and taking her shopping-bag, which 
had room in it for all the things they were 
going to purchase, she caught the little girl by 
the hand, and, though her feet longed to skip, 
they thought it best to walk demurely, for the 
innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly, 
had appeared to greet any newcomers that 
might have arrived to stay at the inn, and well 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 


153 


did. Miss Bayley know that she expected 
schoolteachers to appear morosely dignified. 

Mr. Hiram Tressler, the driver of the stage, 
was a very old man, having driven that route 
more years than Mr. Enterprise Twiggly could 
remember. He had been born and brought up 
in those parts, but his unwavering good nature 
and optimism had kept him young-looking, and 
his life out-of-doors had made him, as he him¬ 
self said, “as hard as a pine-knot.” 

“All aboard, them that’s cornin’ aboard!” 
he called from his high seat. Then, noting 
that the new teacher, whom he had brought 
up from Keno but a month before, was about 
to embark with him, he added, “Miss Bayley, 
wouldn’t you an’ little Dixie Martin like to 
sit up front?” 

The young girl looked up into the face of 
her companion so eagerly that the teacher 
gave a laughing response that she was sure 
they would be glad to accept the invitation. 
The passengers inside the coach looked like 
traveling salesmen, with much baggage stowed 
about them, and they seemed much more de- 


154 


DIXIE MARTIN 


sirous of sleeping than they did of admiring 
the majestic scenery through which they were 
to pass. One did waken when the stage 
started with a jolt, but soon dozed again. 

Little Dixie, wedged in between Miss Bayley 
and the stage-driver, looked up beamingly at 
first one and then the other. “Traveling’s 
real exciting, isn’t it?” she said at last, when 
they were well under way. 

Josephine Bayley nodded. Was it amusing 
or was it tragic, she was wondering, that this 
little midget, small for her twelve years, had 
never been out of Woodford’s but once before, 
and that once to help select a coffin. Jo¬ 
sephine Bayley resolved that this day should 
be so brimmed with happy hours that the 
little girl would have no time to recall the 
sad memory of that other journey to Genoa. 

They were turning down the rough, rugged 
canon road that was deep in the shadow of 
great old pines, when Ken, Carol, and Baby 
Jim leaped from behind the massive trunks 
where they had been hiding, and shouted, wav¬ 
ing their handkerchiefs, “Good-by, Dixie! 
Good-by, teacher!” Then Baby Jim’s shrill, 


DIXIE GOES SHOPPING 


155 


excited voice floated down the canon after 
them, “Bring me some candy!” 

What a happy light there was in the gold- 
brown eyes that were lifted to the teacher, as 
the little girl said: “I hoped they’d all 
come. I’m so glad they wanted to!” 

Josephine Bayley held the thin hand of the 
child in a close clasp, and she was thinking: 
“Lucky little girl! How I wish I had some 
one to care whether I come or go! Brother 
Tim is all I have in this wide world, and we 
are so far aparL” Then, remembering that 
this was to be Dixie’s day, the teacher chatted 
about things that would interest her little 
comrade, and two hours later Mr. Hiram Tres- 
sler sang out, “There’s Genoa’s church- 
steeple.” Then, with evident pride, “Teacher, 
did ye ever see any buildin’ go up much 
higher’n that?” 

Miss Josephine Bayley, late of New York, 
had to confess that she had seen steeples a 
mite higher. She wondered what the stage- 
driver would think if his route led by the 
Woolworth building, but how glad, glad she 
was that it didn’t! 


156 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Ten minutes later the stage-driver drew rein. 
“Here we are now. That there’s the dry- 
goods emporium, teacher. I’ll pick you up 
agin, right on this very spot, prompt at five 
o’clock. So long!” Then the stage rumbled 
away, and Dixie, clinging to the teacher’s 
hand, entered the store, her heart beating like 
a trip-hammer. 

There was silk, silk everywhere about her, 
and how glad she was that two dollars and 
thirty cents would buy enough for a birthday 
dress for Carol. 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


DIXIE BUYS A SILK DRESS 

Josephine Bayley smiled down at the little 
girl as she felt the clinging fingers tighten. 
“Oh, teacher/’ the child whispered raptur¬ 
ously, “I didn’t suppose there was so much 
silk anywhere in all the world. It’s like rain¬ 
bows, isn’t it?” They were standing at the 
counter, waiting for a pleasant-faced little 
woman to come to them. 

“May we see the different shades of blue 
silk?” Josephine Bayley asked, w T hen at last 
the clerk turned toward them. 

“Oh-ee, how Carol would love that one,” 
Dixie said as she pointed to a blue, the color 
of a June-morning sky. The small girl did 
not think to ask the price. Teacher had said 
that two dollars and thirty cents would be 
enough, and Dixie doubted this not at all. 

A pattern was selected, one with ruffles, for 

>157 


158 


DIXIE MARTIN 


nothing was to be omitted that the heart of the 
little sister had been set upon, and then suffi¬ 
cient silk was measured off. Miss Bayley, 
having had a moment's opportunity to speak 
alone with the clerk, had asked her not to men¬ 
tion the price. Turning back, she saw little 
Dixie smoothing the silk as reverently as 
though it were almost too beautiful to be 
touched, and yet there was no thought of envy 
in her heart. Two dollars and thirty cents 
could buy but one silk dress, and that one 
should be for Carol. 

While the parcel was being wrapped, Dixie 
looked about. Suddenly she caught the 
teacher’s hand and drew her down the aisle. 
“Look there,” she whispered as she lifted 
glowing eyes. “That’s the silvery green I was 
telling you about, Miss Bayley. Isn’t it like 
the very first leaves on the willow trees down 
in the creek-bottom?” 

The young woman nodded. “It is just 
lovely, dear,” was all that she said, but she 
thought much more. Then, when the sales¬ 
woman returned, Dixie drew forth the old- 
fashioned purse that had been her mother’s 


DIXIE BUYS A SILK DRESS 159 


and counted out the money, which was in 

% 

dimes and nickels. There were so many of 
them that it looked like quite a fortune heaped 
upon the counter in front of her. The little 
girl did not dream that the silk for Carol’s 
dress had cost five dollars. 

“Now, dear,” Miss Bayley smiled down at 
her, “let’s go over to the book department. I 
want to get a more modern arithmetic than the 
one that I found in the school.” While the 
young teacher was examining mathematical 
books, Dixie, with a little half-suppressed cry 
of joy, skipped toward a table spread with 
attractively-covered juveniles, and so absorbed 
was she a moment later that Miss Bayley 
found the opportunity she desired to slip back 
to the silk counter and order a pattern of the 
pale-green that in one light shimmered like 
silver. 

Had Dixie noticed the shape of the package 
that the teacher carried when they left the 
store, she might have thought it rather soft 
and bulky for a book about mathematics, but 
there were so many things to see and admire 
that she noticed it not at all. 


160 


DIXIE MARTIN 


It was noon, and to the little girl from the 
mountains the main street of the village 
seemed thronged. Again she clung to her 
teacher’s hand as they made their way toward 
the cafe, over which hung the most alluring 
sign. 

“Oh, teacher, Miss Bayley, are we going in 
here?” It was hard for the child to believe 
that she was actually going to have lunch in a 
place so sparkling with mirrors and lights. 

But it was really true, for Miss Bayley was 
leading her to a little table in one corner that 
was just for two. 

Then when the orders had been given, the 
small girl, wide-eyed, looked all about her. 
“There’s going to be music,” she whispered. 
“It’s over behind those plants.” She had 
seen two violinists in a palm-sheltered corner, 
and even as she spoke the first sweet strain 
was heard. Miss Bayley watched the sensi¬ 
tive, expressive face of the little girl and won¬ 
dered how any one could call her homely. 

It was the first time Dixie had ever heard 
the music of a violin, and when the last note 
had died away she lifted eyes that looked as 


DIXIE BUYS A SILK DRESS 161 


though they had seen a vision. “Miss Bay- 
ley,she said, “some time I want to play like 
that.” 

And just then the teacher, looking ahead 
through the years, seemed to see a beautiful, 
willowy young girl dressed in soft, shimmer¬ 
ing green, with red-gold hair glowing beneath 
the lights, playing a violin, while a vast multi¬ 
tude of people listened breathlessly. Was it 
a prophecy? 


/ 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

DIXIE VISITS A FRIEND 

They were again on the street, and the noon 
throng had vanished. As it was still too 
early for the afternoon shoppers to arrive, the 
town seemed to be taking a midday siesta. 
Dixie wondered where they were going, but 
said nothing until they turned a corner, when 
she uttered an exclamation of joy. “Oh, 
teacher, Miss Bayley,” she exclaimed. 
“There's the bank. How I’d perfectly love 
to go in and see kind Mr. Clayburn.” Then, 
looking up anxiously. “Would it ’sturb him 
too much, do you suppose?” 

Miss Bayley had a secret desire to see the 
head of the board of education of the Genoa 
district, and so she replied, “We can at least 
inquire, and if Mr. Clayburn is not busy, he 
may see us for a few moments.” 

The banker had just returned from his lunch, 

162 


DIXIE VISITS A FRIEND 163 


and was in his handsomely appointed private 
office. He was never too busy to see a friend, 
he told little Dixie, when, wondering-eyed, she 
had followed the uniformed bank-messenger 
into the marble-walled room. 

“This is our new teacher, Miss Bayley,” the 
child said, not knowing the right form of 
introduction. 

The kind face of the man lighted. Holding 
out his hand, he exclaimed, “Miss Bayley, this 
is truly a pleasure, and right now let me say 
that I sincerely regret not having visited your 
little school before this, but, since your ar¬ 
rival, I have been more than ever confined to 
the bank during school-hours. However, I 
shall endeavor to visit your district regularly 
after the first of January.” 

They had seated themselves at the banker’s 
invitation, and Josephine Bayley said quietly, 
“I shall not be the teacher at Woodford’s 
school in January, Mr. Clayburn.” 

There was real regret in the face of the lis¬ 
tener. “Why, Miss Bayley, I am sorry to hear 
that. Has something happened to recall you 
to New York? I remember you wrote that 


164 


DIXIE MARTIN 


you would gladly stay one year with us in our 
wild mountain country.” Then he smiled as 
he asked, “Have you found it too wild?” 

The young teacher also smiled, but she said 
seriously: “No, indeed! I love the West! I 
felt smothered in that city of walled-in canons, 
where the sweep of the wind is never felt. I 
glory in your rugged mountains. I forget 
that life holds much that is petty when I look 
at them, especially at night when they are out¬ 
lined aginst the sky, and even the stars are 
much nearer here. In New York heaven seems 
farther away.” 

“But, my dear girl,” the banker said, “If 
you like it here so very much, why desert 
us?” 

“It is because I have been dismissed by the 
local board of education.” If there was a 
twinkle in the brown eyes of the speaker, Mr. 
Clayburn did not notice it. He tapped upon 
his desk with the pencil he held, and a frown 
gathered between his eyes. 

“Miss Baylev,” he said after a thoughtful 
moment, “I alone am at fault. I should not 
have entrusted to a man without education the 


DIXIE VISITS A FEIEND 165 


power to engage and dismiss a teacher.” 
Then, looking lip inquiringly, "Which one of 
the three have you offended?” 

"All of them, I think,” was the reply. "The 
little girl is indignant because I have to ac¬ 
knowledge that the Martin children are 
brighter pupils, the mother feels that she has 
a personal grievance because I will not devote 
my free time, whenever she wishes, to prepar¬ 
ing papers for her to read at your women’s 
club, as her own compositions, while the father 
considers me insubordinate because I have de¬ 
clared my independence.” 

"Good for you, Miss Bayley!” was the rather 
astonishing exclamation. The banker looked 
his approval. Then, rising, he held out his 
hand. "Don’t begin to pack your trunk, and, 
as I said before, the first of the year I will 
make regular visits to the district schools. 
Let me know if you need new books or any¬ 
thing else to help your work along.” 

When they were again on the street, Miss 
Bayley caught the hand of the small girl and 
said: "Dixie, come with me! We’re going 
to the movies to celebrate.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 


TEACHER REVOLUTIONIZES 

Surprising things happened the following 
Monday morning in the little log schoolhouse. 
After leaving the theater on the Saturday pre¬ 
vious, Miss Bayley, who had been told by the 
one having authority to procure whatever she 
might need for her little classes, had returned 
with Dixie to the book department of the em¬ 
porium, and had purchased several graded 
readers from the first to the eighth. The light 
of a new resolve shone in her eyes as she called 
upon Dixie Martin to lead in the Good- 
Morning song. 

When this was done, Miss Bayley looked 
about her at her little straggling group of 
mountain pupils and made a startling an¬ 
nouncement. « 

“Girls and boys,” she said brightly, “I have 

decided to change the old regime, which means 

that we are going to desert the former way of 

166 


TEACHER REVOLUTIONIZES 167 


doing things and start in on a new. To be¬ 
gin with, I am going to give you all an ex¬ 
amination in reading and place you in the 
grades where I believe you belong.” 

Jessica Archer was on her feet in an instant, 
saying: “My pa wouldn’t let you do that. 
He says nothin’ is ever to be done diff’rent in 
this here school unless he tells the teacher to 
do it.” 

“Kindly be seated, Jessica, and hereafter do 
not speak without first raising your hand and 
receiving permission to do so.” The teacher’s 
tone was firm, and, although the little “sheep- 
princess” pouted and looked her defiance, she 
said no more just then. 

“I have here,” Josephine Bayley continued, 
“eight new graded readers, that are very at¬ 
tractively illustrated. I will begin with the 
first, and you may each read one of the little 
stories; then we will progress to the second, 
and so on, and, when you have reached the 
book which is too difficult for you, we will 
know exactly in which grade you belong. Does 
this method seem fair to you? Ira Jenkins, 
what do you think?” 


168 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The long, lank, overgrown son of the burly 
blacksmith flushed to the roots of his hair, but 
he managed to uncurl his ungainly length from 
the much-carved desk that was too small for 
him, and say stutteringly: “Yes’m, Miss Bay- 
ley. Seems like ’tis to me. I should say ’twas 
fair enough.” 

“Do any of you, except Jessica Archer, ob¬ 
ject to being regraded according to your abil¬ 
ity to read?” There was no dissenting voice, 

and so the first book was handed to Dixie 

« 

Martin, who, with an amused smile, read the 
tiny story that told the adventures of a pussy¬ 
cat. When the book had been passed from 
pupil to pupil, it was found that even those 
simple words had been too difficult for the 
two little children of Mr. Archer’s Mexican 
overseer, and so Franciscito and Mercedes 
were classed as “first readers.” 

The six-year-old twins of the trapper, Sage 
Brush Mullet, poor, forlorn little Maggie and 
Millie, stopped at the second. 

Jessica Archer did well enough in the third, 
but could not read many of the words in the 
new fourth, and was so graded. With her w r as 


TEACHER REVOLUTIONIZES 169 


Carol Martin, but to the very evident indig¬ 
nation of the little daughter of Mr. Sethibald 
Archer, Dixie, Ken, and Ira Jenkins were 
placed above her. 

Each was asked to read one of the last three 
stories in the fifth book. Ken and Dixie hes¬ 
itated not at all, but Ira did stumble over the 
longer words, and the first story in the sixth 
proved quite beyond him, and so he was placed 
there. 

Ken, although two years older than his sis¬ 
ter, had a more mathematical mind, and found 
the seventh reader rather difficult, but Dixie 
reached the last, and was declared by the 
teacher to be in the eighth grade. 

Miss Bayley purposely avoided looking in 
the direction of the irate little girl in the 
much-be-ruffled dress as she said: “You are 
now each placed in the grade where you 
should be, and I am sure that we shall in the 
future make real progress.’’ Then, glancing 
at the clock, she smilingly added: “Ten 
already, and time for recess. Dixie, you may 
collect the new books please, and Ken, will 
you lead the line to the playground?” 


170 


DIXIE MARTIN 


But Jessica Archer did not wait to go out 
with the others. Catching her hat from its 
hook on the wall, she darted out, and when, 
fifteen minutes later, Miss Bayley rang the 
bell, recalling the pupils to their lessons, she 
was not at all surprised to find that the re¬ 
bellious little “sheep-princess” was not among 
them. 

Miss Bayley was not long kept in doubt as 
to what the absence of Jessica Archer meant. 
Haying decided to carry her new method of 
grading through all the subjects,—reading, 
writing, and arithmetic,—the teacher had sent 
Ira Jenkins and Ken to the board to work out 
rather advanced sums, when the sound of 
hurrying wheels was heard without, and a mo¬ 
ment later the short, stocky Mr. Setliibald Ar¬ 
cher burst into the room, his face flushed, his 
small gimlet-like eyes blinking very fast. 

“Say, Miss Bayley,” he blurted out, waiving 
the formality of a greeting, “what’s this here 
my gal’s been tellin’ me ’bout you upsettin’ 
methods which I started and makin’ out she’s 
a numskull alongside of those—those no¬ 
account Martins? I’ll not have it, I tell you,” 



TEACHER REVOLUTIONIZES 171 


he blustered. “Pm governin’ board of this 
here school, and things have got to be done as 
I say, or you can pack and leave this here 
locality on to-morrow mornin’s stage. D’ye 
hear?” 

Miss Bayley did not take advantage of his 
pause to defend her action, and, still further 
angered by her calm, he went on, his high- 
pitched voice growing louder, if that were pos¬ 
sible. “I’d like to know where from you got 
your authority,— you, an upstart teacher we 
don’t know nothin’ about. Who was it told 
you to spend money that’s not yours buying 
new books that we don’t need for this here 
school?” 

So indignant had been the self-important 
little man, and so loud his voice, that he had 
not heard the arrival of a horse and buggy 
without, nor was he aware that another lis¬ 
tener had stopped in the doorway to await the 
end of the tirade. When the speaker paused 
to take a breath, the newcomer stepped into 
the school-room, saying in a voice, the calm, 
even tones of which did not betray the just 
anger that he felt: “Mr. Archer, may I an- 


172 


DIXIE MARTIN 


swer the question you have just put to Miss 
Bayley? I, Samuel Clayburn, head of the 
governing board of education in this district, 
gave our teacher full authority to purchase 
whatever she believed was needed to further 
the interests of this little district school, and 
I am indeed glad to find that she is now intro¬ 
ducing progressive methods.” Then he added, 
in a pleasanter tone, for it was hard for the 
portly banker to be unkindly severe: “Mr. 
Archer, I regret that the delivery of mail in 
the mountain sections is so dilatory, otherwise 
you would have known by now that I have de¬ 
cided to devote more of my time to the schools 
in the outlying districts, and so will no longer 
require your aid. I will bid you good¬ 
morning.” 

The stocky, florid man was clenching and 
unclenching his hands, and almost bursting 
with indignation. When the quiet voice 
ceased speaking, he blurted out with: “It’s an 
outrage, that’s what it is! A cooked-up 
scheme of this here new teacher’s to oust me 
from a place that’s rightfully mine. But I’ll 
get even. I’ll take my darter out of this here 


\ 


TEACHER REVOLUTIONIZES 173 


school. Come along, Jessie, I won’t have you 
pizened by no such corruptin’ influence.” 

With a toss of her curls, the little girl 
flounced out of the door, closely following her 
irate father, and they were soon heard to drive 
away. 

“Miss Bayley,” the banker said, “I regret 
this most unfortunate incident. Last Satur¬ 
day, immediately after your departure from 
the bank, I wrote Mr. Archer that I would no 
longer need his services, but the stage probably 
has not as yet passed his place. Realizing 
that something of this very nature might occur 
when he did receive the letter, I decided to 
drive over, knowing that otherwise you would 
have to bear alone the brunt of his wrath.” 

“Thank you,” Josephine Bayley said simply. 
“I am indeed sorry to have been the cause of 
this unpleasantness, but really, Mr. Clayburn, 
I do believe that the other pupils can now 
have a much better chance.” 

The banker nodded, “I am sure of it,” he 
said, as he smiled about at the solemn faces. 

“My pupils,” Miss Bayley said to them, 
“this gentleman is Mr. Samuel Clayburn, of 


174 


DIXIE MARTIN 


the board of education, and he it is who made 
us a gift of those attractive new readers that 
have pleased you all so much.” 

Carol and Dixie arose at once, and the 
others shyly and stragglingly followed. Then 
curtsying, as Miss Bayley had taught them to 
do when she introduced a visitor, in a faltering 
chorus they piped, “Good-morning, Mr. Clay- 
burn.” But it was Dixie who thought to add, 
“And thank you for the books.” 

“You are very welcome, and I’m sure you’ll 
make good use of them,” was the genial reply. 
Then, turning again to the girl-teacher, he 
added: “I hope no further unpleasantness 
will result from this, Miss Bayley, but if there 
does, report to me at once. You can telephone 
to me from the inn.” 

Later, as he was driving down the pine- 
shaded canon road, the good man was think¬ 
ing, “How I do wish my Sylvia could attend 
this mountain school. She seems to be mak¬ 
ing very little headway with her French gov¬ 
erness. If only she could live awhile the sim¬ 
ple, healthful life that the little Martins are 
living, how much good it would do her.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 


THE RETURN OF TOPSY 

“Dixie Martin, come quick if you want to 
see something. Oh-ee! It’s something you’ve 
been wanting for weeks and weeks.” 

It was Carol who called. The small curly- 

%/ 

headed girl was hanging out clothes in the 
sunny yard, back of the log cabin, while the 
older sister stood on a box beside a washtub 
in the shade of a spreading pine tree. 

Hearing the excited voice of her little sister 
calling to her, Dixie hastily wrung out the 
pair of patched blue rompers that she was 
washing, and, with soapy suds glistening on 
her hands, she ran around the house, wonder¬ 
ing what she was to see. 

To her great joy, coming across the garden 
toward them was no less a creature than her 
long-strayed and much-loved cat, Topsy. 

With a cry of delight, Dixie wiped the suds 

175 


176 


DIXIE MARTIN 


from her hands on her blue all-over apron, and 
rushing at the rather thin and rusty-looking 
cat, she caught it up in her arms and kissed 
it on the nose, eyes, and even on the paws. 

“Oh, you dearest, darlingest, belovedest!” 
she exclaimed. “Wherever have you been? 
You look like a regular tramp cat, and no 
wonder,—your coat hasn’t been sleeked for 
three weeks if it’s a day. Didn’t you love 
your Dixie any more, that you ran away and 
wouldn’t come back? You don’t know how 
lonesome I’ve been.” 

The little girl’s face was burrowed in the 
soft black hair. The pussy-cat purred its 
contentment when its little mistress sat on a 
stump near by to cuddle it in her lap, but 
suddenly Topsy flipped up an ear and sat erect, 
as though she had just thought of something. 
Then, before the astonished girls could guess 
what it was all about, away the cat darted 
toward an old abandoned shed down near the 
apple-orchard, soon reappearing with a very 
small something in its mouth. 

The older girl had turned back to the wash- 


THE RETURN OF TOPSY 


177 


tub, but another exclamation as excited as the 
first brought her whirling about. 

“Dix Martin, Topsy’s done gone and had 
kittens. Oh-ee, do look! Isn’t it a little 
beauty? It’s black, like its mamma, but its 
spots are white.” 

Topsy, holding her tail proudly erect, placed 
the wee pussy at Dixie’s feet, then looked up 
in a manner that seemed to say, “There now, 
what do you think of that for a baby?” 

Dixie lifted the soft cuddly little thing, and 
was about to tell the happy mother that it was 
indeed a darling, when, with a queer little 
short meow, the cat again turned and trotted 
off toward the shed, to soon reappear with an¬ 
other wee pussy, but this one was as white 
as the driven snow. 

“Oh-h!” the two girls breathed a long sigh 
of admiration, for never had there been a love¬ 
lier pussy, they were sure. Just then Ken, 
with an ax over his shoulder, appeared from 
the mountain-trail, whither he had been to cut 
wood for their winter fires. 

“What you-all got there?” he called. And 


178 


DIXIE MARTIN 


when he saw that they were beckoning excit¬ 
edly, he threw his ax to the ground and ran 
toward them. 

“Gee whiz! Aren’t they beauts?” the boy 
exclaimed with genuine admiration. “They’re 
’most as handsome as my little pig,” he added 
teasingly. 

“Why, Ken Martin, little pigs aren't warm 
and soft and cuddly, nor baby goats, either,” 
Carol began, when Dixie interrupted, the 
light of inspiration in her thin, freckled face. 

“Oh, Caroly, you’ve always wished you had 
a white pussy, and so you may have this one 
all for your very own, and Ken can have the 
other.” 

“Me?” the boy exclaimed wide-eyed. “I 
don’t want a cat. They’re pets for girls.” 

“Well, maybe that’s so. Girls like cuddly 
things.” Then, to the mother puss, Dixie 
said: “Well, Topsy-cat, we’re ever so glad 
that you have such nice babies, and won’t 
Jimmy-Boy be pleased when he wakes up, but 
now I must get back to my work, for this is 
wash-day. I want to get through as soon as 
ever I can, for something—oh, so interesting! 


THE RETURN OF TOPSY 


179 


—is going to happen this very afternoon. I 
am to go up to teacher’s to have a lesson.” 

Dixie did not say what the lesson was to be, 
but she glanced at her sister and thought, 
“If Carol only knew that I am to have a lesson 
in making her a blue-silk dress, wouldn’t she 
be the happiest girl that ever was?” 

The younger girl had no desire to ac¬ 
company Dixie to Miss Bayley’s cabin. The 
very word “lesson” did not appeal to her on a 
glorious Saturday. After taking the kittens 
back to the shed and making them a softer bed, 
the girls finished the washing; then at two 
o’clock they donned their best gingham dresses 
and started out together, but soon parted, as 
Carol was going to the Valley Ranch to visit 
Sue Piggins, to hear what had happened dur¬ 
ing the week at the girls’ boarding-school over 
in Reno, which Sue attended. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 


dixie’s lesson in dressmaking 

Miss Josephine Bayley was anticipating 
with real pleasure the coming of the little girl 
who was to have her first lesson in dress¬ 
making. 

The door of the small cabin stood welcom- 
ingly open, for it was one of those wonderful, 
balmy days known as Indian summer, and in 
Nevada they seem lovelier than elsewhere. 

“See these beautiful ruddy leaves that I 
found this morning, Dixie, dear,’’ said the 
young teacher, who stood at the center-table 
arranging them, as the small girl appeared 
in the doorway. “I climbed a little lost trail, 
or, it was almost lost, it was so overgrown 
with tangled vines and scraggly dwarf pines.” 

The great bowl of flaming-leaved branches 

was placed in one corner of the room, the 

table swept clear of books and magazines, and 

180 


DIXIE’S LESSON 


181 


then the paper pattern was opened while Jos¬ 
ephine Bayley continued, smiling across at 
her little visitor: “Dixie, how I wish that 
trails could talk. I’d love to know whose feet 
trod it so many times that a path was beaten 
there. Perhaps you have heard, have you, 
dear?” 

Dixie shook her red-gold head. “Not ’zactly 
heard, Miss Bayley,” she replied, “but most 
likely ’twas the year of the big strike over at 
Silver City. My dad said that over-night, al¬ 
most, these lonely, silent mountains were 
swarmed with men from everywhere, and they 
climbed all about with their pickaxes, hunt¬ 
ing for other veins, but they didn’t find them. 
Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad, glad they 
didn’t.” 

“So am I, Dixie,” the girl-teacher agreed, 
“for they would have dug ugly holes in these 
mountains and cut down the wonderful old 
pines. I would rather have nature at its wild¬ 
est for my home than a castle of glistening 
white marble surrounded with artificial parks, 
however beautiful.” 

“Oh, teacher, so would I.” The small girl 


182 


DIXIE MARTIN 


liad drawn close to the table, and her gold- 
brown eyes looked as though they were seeing 
a vision. “Miss Bayley,” she said, “I keep re¬ 
membering. I can’t forget it. That violin 
music, I mean. And this morning, early, 
when I was up before the others, out under the 
pines, getting ready to do the washing, the 
sun came up over old Piney Peak, and it was 
just like a fairy shower of gold. Then a lark 
sang, and a little breeze stirred in the pine 
trees. Teacher, Miss Bayley, I think I could 
play it on a violin, if I had one.” 

“Little Dixie Martin, you shall have one! 
You shall have a violin!” the young woman 
said, deeply touched. Then she added: I 
only w T ish that I knew how to give you lessons, 
but where there’s a will, there’s a way. That 
is a true saying, dear, and you and I will keep 
watching for the way. Now, little ladykins, 
if you will stand up very straight and tall, 
I’d like to see if this pattern hangs well. I’m 
going to pin it on you, if you don’t mind, to 
get an idea of what kind of dress it will make.” 

Miss Bayley did not tell that her real reason 
for wishing to pin on the pattern was to dis- 


DIXIE’S LESSON 


183 


cover how much larger she would have to cut 
one before making a certain piece of shim- 
mery green silk into a dress for Dixie. 

When the pattern was on, the girl-teacher 
made many penciled notes on a bit of brown 
paper. “There, now,” she exclaimed, “we’ll 
cut out the material.” 

Dixie, watching, suddenly put one hand on 
her heart, as though to still its too-rapid beat¬ 
ing. “Oh, teacher,” she said in a little awed 
voice, “this is a wonderful minute, when we’re 
really going to begin to make a blue-silk dress 
for Carol.” Then she added almost wistfully: 
“How I do hope that dear old Grandmother 
Piggins knows that you are helping us. Be¬ 
fore she died she sent for me and she said, 
‘Dixie, dear, I’m glad to go, but I’m praying 
that somebody will be sent to take my place 
with you.’ ” 

Then impulsively the child cuddled close to 
the girl-teacher and looked up with love shin¬ 
ing in her eyes. “Miss Bayley, you are the 
answer to Grandmother Piggins’s prayer.” 

Kneeling, the young woman held the little 
girl in a close embrace, as she said in a voice 


184 


DIXIE MARTIN 


that trembled: “Dixie, I have wandered far, 
and have lost the simple faith, but, oh, what 
it means to me to know that I, even I, have 
been found worthy to be used as an answer to 
prayer!” 

Then rising, she merrily added, “Now thread 
a needle, little Miss Seamstress, and sew these 
two edges together.’’ 

Sitting in a low rocker, by a sunny open 
window, Dixie took painstaking little stitches, 
almost measuring each one, but when her girl- 
teacher noticed that, she laughingly said: 
“You needn’t be so careful, dear. The big 
thing in basting is to have the notches match 
and keep the edges together.” 

For a moment the machine, which had been 
borrowed from the inn, hummed a merry song, 
then teacher looked up to see Dixie sitting 
very still, her sewing in her lap, while her eyes 
were gazing between fluttering white curtains 
and out toward the mountains. 

“A penny for your dreams,” Miss Bayley 
called gayly, as she paused to snap a thread. 

Dixie turned, smiling radiantly. “Oh,” she 
laughed, “I was ’magining ahead, I guess. I 


DIXIE’S LESSON 


185 


was wondering what lovely tilings would hap¬ 
pen to Carol in this pretty blue silk dress.” 
Then, a little anxiously, she added, “There’d 
ought to be a party, shouldn’t you think, Miss 
Bayley?” 

“Of course there should be a party, and, 
what is more, there shall be one, too. When 
is Carol to have a birthday?” 

“November sixth, and that comes on Satur¬ 
day,” the little girl replied. “I was meaning 
to make a cake, and there’d ought to be one 
more candle. Grandma Piggins gave Carol 
eight little candles last year, but now we need 
nine.” 

Miss Bayley was again treading the machine 
and making it hum. Then, when she paused 
to adjust the ruffier, she glanced up brightly 
to find that the gold-brown eyes were still 
watching, apparently waiting. “We’ll have 
that party, dear,” the girl-teacher declared, 
“and the one more candle, I’ll promise that, 
but I’m going to keep it for a surprise for all 
of you little Martins.” 

“Oh, Miss Bayley,” said the small girl, clap¬ 
ping her hands gleefully, “won’t that be the 


186 


DIXIE MARTIN 


nicest? It’ll be a ’sprise for Baby Jim 
and for Ken and me, too, as well as for 
Carol.” 

Teacher nodded, though at that particular 
moment she had not the vaguest idea what the 
surprise-party was to be. Then she added 
“When is your birthday, Dixie, dear?” 

“Mine? Oh, I came in February, on the 
snowiest, coldest, blustriest day, dad said. 
Brother Ken was born in April, but Baby 
Jim,” the girl’s voice softened to a tone of in¬ 
finite tenderness when she spoke that name, 
“our little treasure-baby was born on Christ¬ 
mas day.” Then she added with that far¬ 
away expression which was so often in her 
eyes, “Grandmother Piggins said when little 
souls are sent to our earth on Christ’s birth¬ 
day, they have been specially chosen to be 
His disciples.” 

“It may be true, dear.” Miss Bayley had 
thought so little of these things. She had been 
brought up in boarding-schools without loved 
ones to guide. Then she added, as she ad¬ 
justed a long, straight piece of blue silk that 
was soon to be a ruffle. “Of one thing I am 


DIXIE’S LESSON 


187 


sure, and that is that the influence of a beau¬ 
tiful life lives here on earth long after the 
form of the loved one has passed from our 
sight. Grandmother Piggins must have been 
a dear, dear old lady.” 

“She was,” the child said simply. “Every¬ 
body loved her.” 

“What epitaph could one more desire?” was 
what the girl-teacher thought. Then the ma¬ 
chine began to hum, and Dixie bent over to 
watch the spindle fly, and to see the strip of 
silk that was straight on one side come out 
in the prettiest ruffle on the other. 

“I’m glad it’s near the end of October now,” 
the small girl said with a little sigh, “for I just 
couldn’t wait more’n two weeks to give that 
dress to Carol.” 

Then, as there was no more basting that she 
could do, Dixie wandered about the pleasant, 
home-like room, reading the titles on the books 
that were everywhere in evidence. Suddenly 
she paused before a photograph. “Why, Miss 
Bayley,” she exclaimed, “the boy in this pic¬ 
ture looks almost ’zactly like you.” 

“He is my brother, dear, two years younger 


188 


DIXIE MARTIN 


than I am,” the girl-teacher replied, looking 
up with a smile. 

“Oh, I remember now, you did tell me you 
had a brother Tim. Is he coming West some 
time to see you, Miss Bayley?” 

There was a sudden shadow on the lovely 
face that bent over the blue silk. “I’m afraid 
Tim doesn’t care to find me,” she said. “I 
haven’t heard from him in over a year. I 
don’t even know where he is. Brother and 
I were left orphans when I was eight and he 
six. That was just twelve years ago. Al¬ 
though he is but eighteen, he is a giant of a 
chap, and would pass for twenty-one. Our 
guardian put me in a fashionable boarding- 
school in New York, and placed Tim in a mili¬ 
tary academy in the South. After that we 
saw very little of each other, but we did write, 
that is, I wrote every week and my brother 
replied now and then, but over a year ago 
his letters ceased coming, and so, when I 
graduated and was ready to do what I liked, 

I went South and visited the academy, only to 
find that my brother was not there. He had 
found military discipline too severe, his room- 


DIXIE’S LESSON 


189 


mate told me, and had disappeared. No one 
knew where he went, but his pal believed that 
he had gone to sea. Tim had said to him, 
‘Tell Sis that I’ll turn up in three years, if not 
sooner.’ With Tim gone, I had no one in all 
the world, Dixie, for whom I really cared, and 
no one cared for me. I was so weary of the 
noise and artificial life of New York City, and 
I didn’t want to open up our father’s home on 
Riverside Drive without Tim, so I left it all 
and came West to seek—to seek— Oh, Dixie, 
dear, I don’t know what I came to seek, but I 
do know what I found.” With a little half¬ 
sob, the girl-teacher held out both arms, and 
Dixie went to her. 

“I found some one to love, and some one 
to love me.” Then, hastily wiping her eyes, 
Miss Bayley smilingly declared, “It never 
would do to get a little salty spot on this 
lovely blue silk.” Then, springing up, she 
added gayly, “Come now, Miss Midget, you 
and I are going to have four-o’clock choco¬ 
late.” 

During the next hour Dixie thought she 
had never known her beloved teacher to be so 


190 


DIXIE MARTIN 


light-hearted and merry, but when the small 
girl had gone down the canon trail Josephine 
Bayley went to her screened-in porch bedroom, 
and, stretching out her arms toward the sky 
that was such a deep blue over the mountains, 
she said, a O Thou who holdest the lands and 
the seas, take care of my brother, Tim.” Then, 
remembering the child’s faith in prayer, she 
added, “And bring him to me soon.” 

There was peace in the heart of the girl- 
teacher as she turned back into the little log 
cabin, for, once again, she had faith in prayer. 

“And a little child shall lead them,” she 
thought as she prepared her evening meal. 


I 


CHAPTEK TWENTY-FIVE 


WHERE THE TRAIL LED 

The little lost, almost hidden, trail haunted 
Josephine Bayley. She thought of it the next 
morning when she first awoke. It was still 
hardly daylight when she sprang from bed. 
“Pm going to climb it to the very top,” she 
thought, “for where others have been, I, too, 
can go, and maybe I’ll be there in time to see 
the sun rise.” 

She quickly donned her khaki hiking- 
clothes, with the short skirt and bloomers; 
then, taking a stout, knobbed club that Mr. 
Enterprise Twiggly had given her for a 
weapon, should she meet a snake or wildcat, 
away she started, climbing with eager feet, 
and singing as soon as she was out of hearing, 
for the very joy of living. 

When a tangle of brush impeded her prog¬ 
ress, she thrust the stick ahead and beat the 

191 


192 


DIXIE MARTIN 


vines and bushes, and then fearlessly pushed 
through. 

“All properly brought-up snakes are hiber¬ 
nating now/’ she remarked to an overhanging 
branch that she had to stoop to pass under. 
“Poor little snakes / 7 she ruminated, “in the 
hearts of them they probably are as kindly- 
intentioned as any of us. They love to live in 
their wild mountain homes, and they would 
far rather slip away from us than hurt us, but 
even the truly harmless ones are always bat¬ 
tered to death as soon as thev are seen, al- 
though in gardens they are of great value, if 
only gardeners knew . 77 

A bird from somewhere sang to her, just, 
a joyous morning-song. “Which means that 
the sun is coming up and I have not reached 
the top of this little lost trail, and, what is 
more, I’m not likely to until the day is well 
advanced , 77 said the girl to herself. This be¬ 
cause of a dense growth of pine that arose just 
ahead of her. Then it was that Josephine 
Bayley noticed that the old trail had evidently 
been abandoned, for crossing it was a newer 
one that had been recently used. With a little 


WHERE THE TRAIL LED 193 


skip of delight, the girl-teacher turned into 
the new trail that led through the pine clump, 
and, ascending easily, to her great joy she 
saw one of the lower peaks just above her. 

“Oh! oh!” she thought happily. “How I 
have longed to know what lay beyond this 
mountain that is in my dooryard, so to speak. 
I do hope it is not merely another and higher 
range. Well, I soon shall know.” 

With feet that seemed tireless, the girl- 
teacher climbed the short steep bit of trail that 
was left, and stood at the very summit. Then, 
with arms outflung, she cried aloud: “Oh, 
the wonder of it! Now I know how Balboa 
must have felt when he first beheld the 
Pacific.” 

Lake Tahoe, a great sheet of glistening blue, 
framed in the gray of jagged cliffs and the 
dark green of encircling pines, lay not many 
miles beyond. The sun, still near the horizon, 
was pouring its molten gold over the water, 
sky, and mountains, transforming them to 
celestial loveliness. With clasped hands the 
girl-teacher stood, gazing with her very soul 
in her eyes. Her hat had been thrown on a 


194 


DIXIE MARTIN 


rock near by, and the breeze from the lake was 
tossing her curling locks back from her fore¬ 
head. 

Little did she dream how beautiful she 
looked, and still less did she dream that she 
was being observed by some one who thought 
her the loveliest creature he had ever seen. 

Fifteen minutes passed before the girl be¬ 
came conscious of her surroundings. Not 
far from the summit, and near a clump of 
sheltering pines, she saw a camp-fire, and the 
coals were smoldering. Some one must be 
near, she thought. For one panicky moment 
she realized how unprotected, how very much 
alone, she was on that high peak, but, as no 
one appeared, she decided that the camper 
had gone his way, and she, too, turned, and, 
after one more glance back at the water, re¬ 
traced her steps to her cabin home. 

But the camper had not gone. He had been 
lying very still behind a great gray boulder. 
He knew that this maiden had climbed the 
trail, wishing to be alone, and, too, he had 
reasons of his own for not desiring to make 
his presence known. 


WHERE THE TRAIL LED 


195 


As Josephine Bayley descended the trail, 
her fancy followed the mysterious camper, 
wondering what he might look like,—a hoary- 
bearded prospector, perhaps, still hunting for 
that elusive vein of silver. Had she seen the 
young man who stood erect soon after her 
departure, had she noted his square chin, his 
gray, far-seeing eyes, his keen, kind face, 
tanned by the beating of sun and wind, sleet 
and rain, she would have been more interested 
and curious than ever. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 


ken’s quest 

When the pupils gathered on Monday morn¬ 
ing, Miss Bayley soon realized that the little 
Martins had something to tell her that they 
believed was of great interest. It was indeed 
astonishing and most acceptable news. Carol, 
who had spent Saturday afternoon on the 
Valley Ranch, had been informed by Sue 
Piggins that little Jessica Archer was to re¬ 
turn with her to the boarding-school in Reno. 
Mrs. Sethibald, the mother, had let it be 
known that a common log-cabin school was 
not good enough for a “sheep-princess,” and 
that from then on she was to have the best 
“iddication” that could be obtained, for, like 
as not, when she was grown, she’d be one of 
the first ladies of Nevada, if not of the whole 
land. 

“The girls over there won’t like her, not the 
least little mite,” Sue had prophesied, “that 

196 


KEN’S QUEST 


197 


is, not unless she changes a lot. Their fathers 
are all more educated, and just as rich as Mr. 
Archer is or ever will be.” 

Miss Bayley said little when this news was 
told, but secretly she rejoiced. She had 
feared that she would be obliged by the law 
to report Jessica as a truant if she did not 
attend school anywhere, but it surely was not 
pleasant to anticipate her return to the little 
log school in Woodford’s Canon. 

So happy, indeed, did the girl-teacher feel 
that she wished that it were within her power 
to declare a half-holiday, but, since it was not, 
she decided to close half an hour early and 
take all her little pupils, Mexicans, black¬ 
smith’s son, and the trapper’s two little girls, 
who always looked hungry, with the four Mar¬ 
tins, over to her cabin to celebrate. Even 
while she was giving out sums in mathematics 
her thoughts were straying. “I’m so glad I 
made a mountain of a chocolate cake,” she 
was thinking; “and I’ll make more chocolate 
to drink, and for once Milly and Maggy Mul- 
lett, at least, shall have all the cake they 
wish.” 


198 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Mrs. Sethibald Archer would indeed have 
been indignant if she had known her daugh¬ 
ter’s withdrawal from the log-cabin school was 
being considered an occasion for especial re¬ 
joicing. 

Often during the morning Dixie glanced at 
Miss Barley and thought that she never before 
had noticed how very young-looking she was, 
and, too, the girl-teacher looked as though she 
might begin to sing at any minute. Indeed, 
so real was Miss Bayley’s desire to do so 
that she quite upset the usual plan of study 
by saying: “Don’t let’s do mathematics any 
more this morning. Let’s each choose a song 
to sing.” Which they did, and how the little 
old schoolhouse rang, for each chose a song 
that they all knew well, and although little 
Dixie, who led them, had not the vaguest idea 
why teacher was so happy, the spirit of rejoic¬ 
ing was contagious, and her birdlike soprano 
voice trilled sweeter and higher, encouraging 
those who faltered. 

When at last the solemn-faced clock, which 
perhaps had been watching all this unusual 
procedure with dignified surprise, slowly 


KEN’S QUEST 


199 


tolled the hour of ten, Miss Bayley said: 
“And now we will have recess. Dixie, dear, 
will you lead the games to-day, and Ken, will 
you remain with me? I wish to speak to you.” 

The heart of loyal little Ken was filled with 
pride. It was a great honor, the pupils of 
Josephine Bayley thought, to be asked to re¬ 
main in at recess and be talked to by teacher. 
Sometimes she actually asked their opinions 
about things, for, strange as it may seem, it 
was her theory that if the children would 
rather have red geraniums blossoming on 
the window-sill, instead of white, red they 
should be. 

“It’s your schoolroom,” she had told her 
pupils, “and here you spend the heart of every 
day. I want it to be beautiful in your eyes, 
and then I know it will be in mine.” 

Was there ever another teacher so under¬ 
standing as their beloved Miss Bayley? 

Ken’s intelligent freckled face glowed with 
eagerness when at last the little line of pupils 
had filed out to the playground, and he 
was to hear why Miss Bayley had asked him to 
stay in at recess. 


200 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The young teacher left her desk and stepped 
down by his side. “Laddie,” she began, “yes¬ 
terday morning early I climbed the trail that 
starts back of the inn, and I found a wonderful 
view of Lake Tahoe, but I found more than 
that. Guess what?” 

She had placed a hand on each of his shoul¬ 
ders, and was looking into the wondering eyes 
that were so like Dixie’s, though not so 
dreamy, for Ken was a doer of deeds, as 
Pine Tree Martin had been. 

“Oh, Miss Bayley, teacher, what? A bear, 
like ’twas. Now and then they do come down 
from the high Nevadas, but usually not till 
the snows set in.” 

“Gracious, me, no, not that. If I had met a 
bear, I don’t suppose I should be here to-day 
to tell about it.” 

The girl-teacher looked her consternation at 
the mere possibility of such a meeting, but the 
boy shook his head, with its unruly mop of 
hair that was redder than Dixie’s, as he 
answered, “Bears don’t touch people unless 
they’re cornered or come upon sudden-like.” 

Then, remembering that the mystery had 


KEN’S QUEST 


201 


not been explained, he asked eagerly, “Miss 
Bayley, what did yon see?” 

“A camp-fire, Ken, and although no one at 
all was in sight, the coals were still smolder¬ 
ing. Now, who do yon suppose would be 
breakfasting on that high peak? It isn’t a 
trail that leads anywhere in particular, is it?” 

“The Washoe Indians go over that way to 
Lake Tahoe fishing, but it doesn’t sound like 
Indians,” the boy said. Then his eyes lighted 
with hope. “Do you ’spose maybe ’twas a 
train-robber hiding?” 

“Goodness, I hope not!” Miss Bayley shud¬ 
dered. “I’d heaps rather have met your 
bear.” Then she added, “Have there been any 
trains robbed lately?” 

The boy had to confess that he hadn’t heard 
of any. “There used to be lots of train and 
stage hold-ups when my dad was a boy,” he 
said, “but nowdays nothing much happens.” 
There was real regret in the tone of the lad, 
as though life in the Sierra Nevadas had be¬ 
come too tame to be of real interest. Then 
his eyes again brightened. “Well, anyhow, it 
might have been a sheep-rustler. How I’d 


202 


DIXIE MARTIN 


like to trail him, if ’twas. There’s a State 
bounty for cornering one, Miss Bayley.” 

The girl-teacher laughed at the boy’s eager¬ 
ness. “Well, Ken,” she confessed, “all I saw 
was a smoldering camp-fire, and since a bear, 
a coyote, or a mountain lion cannot make a 
fire, we shall have to believe that a man had 
breakfasted there at sunrise, but I heard no 
one and saw no one.” 

“Oh, Miss Bayley, teacher, how I’d like to 
’vestigate. I’d like to, awful well, if I could 
get ’scused a little early. It gets dusky so 
soon now, and I’d need to have two hours of 
daylight, certain.” 

This was an unusual and unexpected re¬ 
quest, but the holiday spirit was in the heart 
of the girl-teacher, and so, to the great joy of 
the lad, she granted it. Then she added, as a 
new thought suggested itself: “I don’t know, 
dear boy, that I ought to let you go, if you 
think it might be a bandit in hiding, or any¬ 
thing like that. Would you be safe?” 

The boy’s expression was hard for Miss Bay- 
ley to interpret. “Oh, teacher! Boys aren’t 


KEN’S QUEST 


203 


scared of bandits. They like ’em! You know 
that Robin Hood fellow in the book you and 
Dixie bought me in Reno. Now, he was a 
bandit, wasn’t he? A reg’lar bandit.” 

The girl-teacher had to agree. “But, Ken,” 
she protested feebly, “he was a story-book ban¬ 
dit. They are different in real life, aren’t 
they?” 

“I dunno,” the boy had to acknowledge. “I 
haven’t met one yet, but I’d like to. Gee whiz, 
Miss Bayley, I wish I could start right now. 
I sure do! Maybe he’s goin’ on somewhere 
else this afternoon. Maybe I’d catch him if 
I went this very minute.” 

Miss Bayley laughed. She knew that it was 
her fault, for she had filled the boy’s mind 
with longing for adventure, and she also knew 
that he would be unable to study that day, and 
so she said, “But you haven’t had your lunch.” 

“I’ve got my share in my pocket this minute. 
Could I go, Miss Bayley? Could I go now?” 

What was there to do but agree, and, with a 
little half-suppressed whoop of joy, the boy 
leaped to the row of hats, snatched his own 


204 


DIXIE MAKTIN 


from a hook, waved it in farewell, and was 
gone. A wild gazelle could hardly have been 
more fleet of foot. 

No stick did he carry to beat ahead for 
snakes. This little lad, born and reared in the 
mountains, had no fear of the other creatures 
dwelling there. With understanding sym¬ 
pathy and comradeship he made them all his 
friends. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 


CELEBRATING 

The holiday spirit continued to pervade the 
little log schoolhouse, and Dixie marveled, 
for was not this Monday, the day of the week 
when lessons were usually the hardest? Then, 
at two o’clock, and right in the middle of the 
/ spelling recitation, Miss Bayley closed the 
book, and, placing it in her desk, made an un¬ 
precedented announcement, “Suppose we 
speak pieces for a while, and then I have a 
surprise planned for you.” 

Unable longer to keep from expressing her 
curiosity, the slim, freckled hand of Dixie 
went up. The beaming teacher nodded, and 
the little maid rose and inquired, “Miss Bay- 
ley, is it your birthday to-day?” 

The girl-teacher laughed aloud. “I feel as 
though it were,” she confessed. “I am almost 

sure it is, somehow. We might call it an 

205 


206 


DIXIE MARTIN 


extra make-believe birthday, for my real one 
comes in January when it’s blustery and cold.” 

Then, following up the idea suggested by the 
pupil she so loved, she asked, “How many of 
you would like to come to my extra-birthday 
party?” 

How the hands flew up! The suggestion 
of it was beyond the understanding of some 
of them, but “party” was a word known to 
all except the little Mexicans. However, even 
their small brown hands went up, and their 
smiles were as bright as the smiles of those 
who fully comprehended the meaning of the 
magical word. 

“Very well, but first we will have an hour 
of reading and recitation. Now, Jimmy-Boy, 
will you begin by speaking one of your seven 
pieces?” 

The curly-headed little fellow who sat at the 
big double desk with Dixie, dangling feet that 
were too short to reach the floor, slipped down 
and went very willingly up to the platform, 
where he made his little bow and began to re¬ 
cite, but instead of speaking one of his seven 
pieces, he kept right on saying them all, for 


CELEBRATING 207 

they were but Mother Goose rhymes, and none 
of them long. 

He was so irresistibly cunning that every 
one clapped, even Mercedes and Franciscito. 
Miss Bayley, noting their dark, beaming faces, 
choosing words that she had taught them, 
asked if they could not do something. 

To her surprise, the little black-eyed girl 
arose and replied in her soft, musical voice, 
“8i, senoriia” Then, taking her brother by 
the hand, she led him to the rostrum, and to¬ 
gether they sang a Spanish serenade, and so 
beautifully that Miss Bayley and Dixie were 
indeed delighted. 

Then the solemn-faced grandfather’s clock, 
which perhaps was still shocked at such un¬ 
usual levity on a workaday Monday in the 
schoolroom over which it presided, very slowly 
announced that the hour was three. 

“Good!’’ Miss Bayley cried, seeming very 
like a girl herself in the mood of the day. 
“Now we’ll have that extra-birthday party.” 

Out of the little log schoolhouse they 
trooped, half an hour early, that none might be 
later than usual reaching their homes. Over 


208 


DIXIE MARTIN 


to “dear teacher’s” they went, and were served 
with very large slices of that wonderful moun¬ 
tain chocolate cake, with more chocolate to 
drink. Then, with a loving pat for each little 
one, Miss Bayley dismissed them, holding fast 
all the time to the hand of the pupil she loved 
the best. When the others had gone on ahead, 
Josephine Bayley stooped, and kissing Dixie 
on the forehead, she said softly, “Come over 
early next Saturday afternoon, dear, and we 
will finish the blue-silk dress.” 

When she was alone the girl-teacher won¬ 
dered if her joyous mood was altogether be¬ 
cause of the departure of the troublesome pu¬ 
pil. Was it not rather a premonition of some 
new and wonderful interest that was to come 
into her life? If troubles cast their shadows 
ahead, even more does joy illumine the way it 
treads. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 


ON THE TRAIL OF A “BANDIT” 

Up through the old trail the boy had broken 
his way, and into the newer, more open path 
he leaped, his feet winged with eagerness, and 
it was a very breathless lad who at last reached 
the trail’s end and found the cold gray ashes 
that had been a camp-fire. 

“He’s gone!” he said aloud. “Whoever 
’twas has gone on farther.” Then, as he 
glanced among the near pines, he thought, “I 
might have known he’d be gone by this time. 
A sheep-rustler, or a bandit, either, wouldn’t 
just stay on a mountain-peak.” 

Truly disappointed, the boy climbed to the 
highest point, and, shading his eyes, looked 
in every direction. 

The sun was high, the lake a deep emerald 
hue, with here and there the reflection of a 
fleecy white cloud slowly drifting across its 

209 


210 


DIXIE MARTIN 


mirror-like surface, for not a breath of air 
was stirring. Then the lad’s gaze swept the 
mountain-ranges beyond. 

“Guess I’m not much good at catching sheep- 
rustlers,” he commented, “but then, I wouldn’t 
think much of one, or a bandit either, who’d 
sit here and w T ait to be caught.” 

The lad suddenly realized that he was very 
hungry. He sat on a rock near, and looked 
meditatively about as he munched on the sand¬ 
wich which he had taken from his pocket. 

Suddenly he leaped to his feet, ran a little 
way toward the burned-out camp-fire, and, 
kneeling, examined the ground. A footprint! 
It hadn’t been made by the soft leather shoe 
that Washoe Indians often wore. Rising, and 
still munching his bread and meat, he placed 
his own smaller foot in the print. 

“Whoever he is, he’s a big fellow!” he said 
admiringly. “A reg’lar giant.” Then, hav¬ 
ing finished the bread, he drew a rosy apple 
from the depth of another pocket where it had 
been bulging. The boy walked about, pok¬ 
ing in the ashes; then suddenly, with a whoop 
of delight, he knelt down, jammed the remain- 


ON THE TRAIL 


211 


ing piece of apple in his mouth to dispose of 
it speedily, and with his freed hands drew 
forth a sheet of partly burned, much-blackened 
paper that had writing on it. 

“Whizzle!” he ejaculated. “How I hope it’s 
a clue.” 

He spread the paper on a flat boulder, and 
knelt to examine it closely. The fire and the 
smoke had done their best to make it hard for 
him to decipher the finely written words. It 
seemed to be the fragment of a personal letter 
written to a relative, but not one reference 
was made to holding up a train or rustling 
sheep. At the very bottom, in a scorched 
place, the boy found something which caused 
him to leap to his feet and prance about as a 
wild Indian would, when celebrating a joyous 
occasion. 

“Hurray! Hurray!” he fairly shouted, and 
the near peak echoed back the cry. Then, 
climbing again to the highest boulder, the lad 
once more shaded his eyes, this time with an 
even greater eagerness to discover some sign 
of a camp. At last, over on the next mountain 
which was so perilously steep that few at- 


212 


DIXIE MARTIN 


tempted to scale it, and up near the top, the 
boy’s eyes found what he sought— a camp-fire. 

“Ginger!” he thought. “I don’t know how 
he ever got there, whoever he is. Climbing 
that mountain is like trying to shin up 
the wall of a barn, but if he can do it, so can 
I, but ’twould take me a day, and it’s too 
late now.” 

The boy looked toward the west, and saw 
the sun was low in the horizon. “I’d go to¬ 
morrow, but Dixie wouldn’t like it if I cut 
school, and I’d ought to stick at arithmetic 
if I’m going to be a civil engineer. But I’ll 
come up here Saturday before sun-up, and if 
that camp’s over there then, I’m going to head 
for it, and if it’s who I think maybe ’tis— 
Aw—but, gee, it couldn’t be. Well, it’s 
somebody, and who it is I want to find out.” 

“There wasn’t anybody there,” was the re¬ 
port he gave Miss Bayley the next day. 
“Whoever it was made the fire had moved on.” 
He said nothing of his plans, but it was very 
hard for the boy, yearning for adventure, to 
keep his mind on mathematics that week, and 
Saturday was a long time coming. 


ON THE TRAIL 


213 


But come it did, and hours before the sun 
was up Ken was on the trail, eager, expectant. 

Again on the top of the trail where the 
burnt-out camp-fire had been discovered, Ken 
scrambled to the peak of the highest boulder, 
and, with a heart beating like a trip-hammer, 
he pulled his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes 
to shade them from the glare of the sun that 
was rising in a cloudless sky. 

Would there be any sign of the camp on 
the mountains beyond, he wondered. Even 
as he looked he decided that whether there was 
or not, he would not return to Woodford’s 
without having further investigated. 

At first the lad saw nothing but the daz¬ 
zling golden light of the sun that was slowly 
rising higher, driving the gloom from the 
canons, but, as he continued to gaze, faint and 
far he saw a thin column of smoke wavering 
uncertainly, and then suddenly drop down, 
to rise again a moment later, as though in¬ 
vigorated when fresh and more inflammable 
fuel had been added to the fire. 

The lad scrambled down from his peak of 
observation and danced about as he shouted 


214 


DIXIE MARTIN 


aloud, to the very evident astonishment of a 
squirrel near by: “He’s there! That is, 
somebody’s there, and, oh, if it should be— 
But I mustn’t get my heart set on that.” 

Then he looked again to make sure that he 
had not been imagining. It might be mist or 
haze, but there it was, unmistakably rising in 
a straight, unwavering dark line against the 
gleaming blue of the sky. Then, as the boy 
watched, a breeze, wafting across the lake, 
waved the column of smoke. 

“I feel sort o’ like an Indian trying to read 
smoke-signals,” he thought gleefully; “only, 
whoever made that fire isn’t trying to send 
messages to me. If it’s a bandit hiding there, 
he wouldn’t want any one to know where he 
is even. Gee, he might be a dangerous char¬ 
acter! Maybe I’d better steal up soft-like 
so that I can make a good getaway without 
his knowin’ I’m about, if—” 

Then he chuckled as he started down the 
trail on the other side of the low peak. 
“Dixie’s the one in our family who is sup¬ 
posed to have ’magination,” he thought; “but 



ON THE TRAIL 


215 


this morning my head seems to be full of 
queer notions.” 

At first he started to sing, a glad shouting 
kind of song without words or meaning ex¬ 
cept that he was eager, excited, and happy. 
But suddenly he stopped as though fearing 
that some wanton wind would carry his voice 
to the lone man who was probably then 
breakfasting. 

Ken was following the trail that had been 
made by the Washoe Indians from the canon, 
when they went over to Lake Tahoe to 
fish, but at last the boy left it and broke 
through the sagebrush and other tangled 
growths and began climbing a trailless way 
toward the highest mountain near Wood¬ 
ford’s, which rose bare, gray, grim, lonely, 
forbidding. 

There were times in the ascent when Ken 
came to a sheer wall, higher than his head, 
and, to scale it, he took off his shoes, knotted 
the strings, flung them over his shoulder, and 
then went up, clinging to crevices with his 
toes and finger-tips. 


216 


DIXIE MARTIN 


It was lucky that Dixie, the little mother 
of them all, could not see just then, the brother 
she so loved, for he was often in most perilous 
positions, where a single slip would have 
sent him hurling on the jagged rocks far be¬ 
low. But his desire to reach the goal of his 
dreams gave him strength and skill, it would 
seem, and soon he reached the first small pla¬ 
teau and there he sat, the sun at its zenith as¬ 
suring him that it was noon. Taking the in¬ 
evitable sandwich from his pocket, he ate it 
hungrily. Then he stretched out on the flat 
rock, conscious of strained muscles and glad 
of a moment’s rest. But it wasn’t long before 
he had leaped to his feet and rejoiced to find 
that, around the outjutting rocks, there was a 
belt of scraggly low-growing pines. To these 
he could cling and make greater progress. 
How near was he to the camp, he wondered. 
Suddenly he paused and listened intently. 

A gunshot rang out so close to the boy that 
instinctively he dropped to the ground, press¬ 
ing close behind a boulder. What could it 
mean? Was he nearer the camp than he had 
supposed? Had the bandit, or whoever was 


ON THE TRAIL 


217 


in hiding, seen him or heard him? This was 
possible, as but a moment before he had 
slipped, displacing some loose stones that had 
rattled noisily down the mountain-side. 

Or, if he had caused a motion among the 
dwarf pines to which he was clinging, as he 
made the ascent, he might have been taken for 
a skulking coyote or a mountain-lion. 

Almost breathlessly the lad waited, listen¬ 
ing, watching, but he heard nothing and no 
one came. Fifteen minutes passed before he 
dared to go on, and even then he did not stand 
erect, but crouched, keeping hidden by the 
stunted growths about him. 

This was the big adventure that his boyish 
heart had yearned for, and the real element of 
danger but enchanced his joy in it. 

He was wondering how much farther he 
would have to go before he saw signs of a 
camp, when suddenly he rounded a denser and 
higher clump of trees and found himself 
looking directly into a clearing on a small 
plateau, which was protected on three sides, 
the fourth opening toward the lake. Darting 
back under cover of the low-growing pines, 


218 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Ken peered out and beheld a rude structure 
that was neither cabin nor wigwam, but a 
shelter made of green branches. The camp¬ 
fire in front of it was still smoldering, prov¬ 
ing that either the man was not far away, or 
that he had not long been gone. Then a ter¬ 
rible fear smote the heart of the lad. What 
if that had been the camper’s last meal on the 
mountain! What if he had now departed, 
not to return! 

Just at that moment another shot rang out, 
the sound reverberating from the canon be¬ 
low. The camper was evidently hunting for 
game. Indeed he probably had nothing else 
to eat, though lower down and near the lake 
there were rushing streams in which the little 
mountain trout could be caught in abundance. 

The lad hardly knew what to do. He 
feared it would not be wise for him to go 
boldly into this unknown man’s camp while 
he was away, for if it should be one of the 
“dangerous characters” occasionally described 
by the Genoa “Crier,” who sought a hiding- 
place in the high Nevadas, the lad would 
want to slip away unobserved. 


ON THE TRAIL 


219 


He decided to remain under coyer until the 
camper had returned. Luckily, Ken had not 
long to wait, for a nearer shot told that the 
hunter was approaching, and in another mo¬ 
ment a tall, sinewy, broad-shouldered young 
man swung into view, a small deer flung over 
his shoulder. 

His brown hair was long and his face nearly 
covered with a beard. Indeed, at first glance, 
he looked as though he might be a very dan¬ 
gerous character, but just as Ken had made 
this decision, the young man, little knowing 
that he was being so closely observed, began to 
sing in a tenor voice that carried to the heart 
of the listener the conviction that, whatever 
might be the reason for his hiding, it was not 
because of an evil record. 

However, he did not leave his place of ob¬ 
servation at once. He watched as the young 
giant dropped the small deer upon the ground, 
stretched his arms out as though to rest them, 
and then disappeared in his pine shelter. A 
moment later he reappeared without the gun, 
and carrying a long sharp knife. Kneeling 
by the deer, he prepared to skin it. 


220 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Silently the lad drew nearer, but so intent 
was the camper upon his occupation that he 
did not hear a footfall nor a sound of any 
kind until the boy spoke hesitatingly, “I say, 
mister, I’m awful good at skinning creatures. 
Couldn’t I help?” 

The young man, who had believed himself 
to be alone near the top of an almost unscal¬ 
able mountain, leaped to his feet, amazed. 
His keen gray eyes swept over the very small 
figure of the barefooted boy, and then, to the 
unutterable joy of the lad, his hands were 
seized and a voice he knew and loved was 
fairly shouting: “Ken Martin, old pal; I ? ve 
been wondering how in time I could get word 
to you that I was—well, sort of a neighbor of 
yours. I fully intended to drop down into 
Woodford’s soon and hunt you up, but I’m 
mighty glad you called first, so to speak. Sit 
down, old man. But wait; I’ll get you a 
drink of aqua pura from my near-by spar¬ 
kling fount. You look petered out, as though 
you had climbed to near the end of your 
strength.” 

The boy drank long of the water which was 


ON THE TRAIL 


221 


given him in a folding cup, and then, as he 
sank down on the ground in a truly weary 
heap, he gasped, “I say, Mr. Edrington, what- 
all are you doing up here?” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 

KEN^S OLD FRIEND 

“Ken, you’ve been doing some growing since 
we put the highway through your canon two 
years ago.” The young man, with folded 
arms, stood smiling down at the boy, who 
grinned back as he replied with enthusiasm, 
“If I can keep right on till I’m big as you are, 
I’ll like it mighty well.” 

“I believe you’ll make it,” Frederick Ed- 
rington declared as he seated himself upon a 
boulder near and continued to look approv¬ 
ingly at the lad. “You remember what I 
used to tell you about getting what you 
want?” 

The boy nodded his red-brown mop of hair. 
“Yeah,” he said, lapsing unconsciously into 
the speech of the mountaineers. “First fix 

a definite goal, it doesn’t matter how far 

222 


KEN’S OLD FRIEND 


223 


ahead or how rough the road in between, and 
then keep going toward it.” 

“Even if you slip back two steps for every 
one that you forge ahead,” his companion put 
in. 

Ken laughed. “Gee, I hope it won’t be as 
hard as all that for me to get to be a civil 
engineer.” 

The eyes of the older man lighted. “Still 
holding that for a goal, boy?” he asked, his 
voice showing his real pleasure. 

Ken nodded. “Bet I am,” he replied. 

“Worked hard at math?” was the next 
query. “Pretty quick at doing sums?” 

Ken flushed. “I don’t know as I’m a 
crackerjack at it, but I told Miss Bayley all 
about how I want to grow up to be just like 
you, and when she found I wanted to get 
along faster in arithmetic, she stayed after 
school to help me whenever the sums were 
extra hard. I say, Mr. Edrington, our new 
teacher, she’s a trump!” 

The young civil engineer, who had been 
leaning back, hands locked behind his head, 
sat up with sudden interest. 


224 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“Kind of a thin, skinny, old-maid sort of a 
person, is she?” he asked with a smile lurking 
away back in his gray eyes. 

“Indeed she is not!” Ken retorted loyally. 
“Miss Bayley, next to my mother, is the most 
beautiful woman that ever lived at Wood¬ 
ford’s or anywhere in all the world I guess. 
Even queens couldn’t be nicer, and she isn’t 
thin or homely, though I guess she is pretty 
old.” Then he dug his bare toes in the dry 
pine-needles as he added, looking at his friend 
speculatively, “I guess she’s nearly as old as 
you are.” 

Mr. Edrington’s amused laughter rang out. 
“Poor girl, if she’s that ancient, she’d better 
be saving her pennies, for she’ll soon be ready 
for the Old Ladies’ Home.” 

Ken, solemn-eyed, watched the speaker. 
“She isn’t that old,” he said. “I know, for 
there’s an old folks’ home over toward 
Genoa, but the people are bent and sort of 
hobble and lean on sticks when they walk. I 
guess, come to think of it, maybe Miss Bayley 
isn’t what you’d call real old yet.” Then his 
face lighted with admiration. “Gee, but 


KEN’S OLD FRIEND 


225 


she’s a good sport, though! She held the pig 
for me the first day she came to our house 
while I made the pen, and she didn’t squeal 
at all.” 

“Lucky pig!” the young man commented. 

This went over the head of the boy, who re¬ 
marked laughingly, “The pig didn’t think so. 
He wriggled so hard, trying to get away, and 
you just should have heard him squeal. But, 
gee, didn’t that prove teacher is a brick? 
Most girls, except Dixie, would have said they 
wouldn’t even touch a little pig. They aren’t 
much good, girls aren't, except Dixie and—• 
well, Carol, she’s doin’ better.” 

Mr. Edrington steered the conversation into 
channels in which he was interested. 

“Any newcomers down at the inn?” he in¬ 
quired, looking closely at the lad. The boy 
shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he said, 
“none that I’ve heard of. Why?” 

“Well, I was hoping that there were none,” 
was the non-committal reply. Then he added, 
“Open an ear, old pal, for if you swear to 
secrecy, I’m going to tell you why I’m here.” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die if I ever 


226 


DIXIE MARTIN 


do tell,” the boy promised so solemnly that 
the young man wanted to smile, but thought 
best to accept the oath as seriously as it had 
been made. 

“Well, it sounds foolish, I know, but I’m 
hiding from an aunt of mine who wants me 
to marry an heiress, and since the girl her¬ 
self agrees with my aunt, I knew my only 
safety lay in flight. Everywhere I went I 
was pursued by this elderly relative, who, hav¬ 
ing brought me up since my parents died, 
thinks that she owns me body and soul. I 
do feel a sincere depth of gratitude toward 
her, but prefer to pay it in some other way 
than by marrying the girl of her choice, an 
alliance with whom, I have been assured every 
day for the past year, would greatly add to 
my fame and fortune.” 

As he paused the boy looked up sympathet¬ 
ically. “Gee, I don’t wonder you hid,” he 
commented. “You wouldn’t catch me getting 
married. I’d heaps rather go to sea, maybe 
to China, or do something exciting.” 

“H-m! A very sensible decision, my lad, 
and yet the sea of matrimony, I’ve been told, 


KEN’S OLD FRIEND 227 

is not without its exciting adventures.” 
Then the civil engineer laughed. “Romance 
is a little beyond your comprehension, and 
I’m glad it is. It will be a relief to hear 
about something else for a time. I’m not in 
love, never was in love, and don’t believe I 
ever shall be in love.” 

Why was it, at that very moment, and quite 
without will of his own, Frederick Edrington 
saw in his memory a slim young girl standing 
silhouetted against a gleaming morning sky, 
with arms outflung and curling brown hair 
blown about a face so lovely that it had 
haunted him every hour, waking or sleeping, 
that had passed since he had first beheld the 
vision? 

“I say, Ken,” he suddenly remarked, “that 
new teacher of yours, has she soft curly, 
brown hair, and does she wear a khaki hiking- 
suit—short skirt and bloomers?” 

The boy nodded, then exclaimed as he sud¬ 
denly recalled something: “Gee whiz! Mr. 
Edrington, I clean forgot it was teacher who 
started me out on this hunt for you. ’Course 
she didn’t know it was you, but the other 


228 


DIXIE MARTIN 


morning, when she climbed to the top of the 
Little Peak trail to see the sun rise, she saw 
a camp-fire, and she asked me if I could guess 
who might have made it. I sort of hoped it 
was a sheep-rustler, and Miss Bayley—gee, 
but she’s a sport, all right—let me out of 
school early that day so I could go up and see 
who was there, and then it was I saw smoke 
over here, and thought I’d climb up and see 
who it might be. I found a piece of a letter 
in the ashes that day, and one word was ‘en¬ 
gineering.’ It made me hope,—how I did 
hope,—maybe it was you,” then, triumphantly, 
“and it was.” 

“Rather is, son,” was the reply. Then the 
young man rose as he remarked. “Wish you 
could stay till the snow falls.” 

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Mr. Edring- 
ton,” he exclaimed, “you aren’t going to stay 
up here all winter, are you? Why, you’ll be 
frozen stiff.” 

The young man laughed as he knelt to skin 
the small deer. But he spoke with decision. 
“I shall stay in this impenetrable fastness 
until I hear that the lovely Marlita Arden has 


KEN’S OLD FRIEND 


229 


married a certain Lord Dunsbury, wlio really 
^ ants her, or wants her millions, I don’t know 
which, nor do I care. Marlita thinks that she 
loves me, but nevertheless she will soon decide 
that it is better to have a titled spouse than a 
humble engineer, and until she does reach 
that decision the name of Frederick Edring- 
ton will be found among those reported miss¬ 
ing; missing, anyway, from fashionable Wash¬ 
ington society, where he has had to be more 
or less active for the past two years.” 

“Well,” Ken said rather wistfully, “if 
you’re going to stay, I kind o’ wish I could 
stay, too, but I don’t know how Dixie could 
get on without me to bring the wood and 
make the fires, and—” The boy’s face sud¬ 
denly brightened, and, leaping up, he did his 
wild Indian dance. Then, landing in front 
of the astonished onlooker, he concluded with 
a whoop: “I say, Mr. Edrington, if you want 
to hide, I know where’s the best place, and 
you could be right with me, with us, I mean.” 

“Where?” the young man was curious. 

“In our loft bedroom. Dixie and Carol’d 
just as soon sleep down-stairs, and you could 


230 


DIXIE MARTIN 


sleep up there and have a rope-ladder that 
you could draw up, and no aunts could ever 
find you. Then, between stages, you’d be 
safe enough and could go where you’d like. 
Oh, I say, Mr. Edrington, will you come?” 

The young man held out his big hand and 
grasped the smaller freckled one. “Maybe 
later I’ll take you up on that,” he said, “but 
at present I’m using this location as a prob¬ 
lem in mining engineering—just for practice- 
work, old man.” Then he smiled specula¬ 
tively. “But I’ll promise this: If the lovely 
Marlita has not wed this Lord Dunsbury by 
the time the first snow comes, I’ll drop down 
to Woodford’s, and take up my abode in your 
loft room, and thanks, old pal, for wanting 
me.” 

Then, as it was mid-afternoon, the boy 
thought he’d better be starting back, and the 
engineer pointed out a much easier way of 
descent, which he had discovered. “I’ll come 
next Saturday again, Mr. Edrington. Is 
there anything I can pack up for you?” 

“Yes, son. Bring me a Reno paper if you 
can get hold of one, and a book to read, his- 



KEN’S OLD FRIEND 


231 


tory preferred; and, by the way, kid, remem¬ 
ber your kope-to-die promise. You might tell 
your teacher that a hairy old hermit named 
Rattlesnake Sam lives on the mountain, and 
that he it was who built the fire that she saw.” 

The boy grinned his appreciation. “Al] 
right,” he said, “I’m game.” Then he started 
away, looking back with a longing to stay, but 
his loyal little heart knew that Dixie would 
have need of his services, and so he hurried 
down the trail and reached Woodford’s in 
half the time it had taken to make the ascent. 


CHAPTER THIRTY 


“rattlesnake sam” 

“Teacher, Miss Bayley.” The boy who 
spoke was standing on the doorstep of the 
small cabin near the inn. 

“Why, Ken, good-morning. You are up 
very early, aren’t you,” the young woman who 
had opened the door exclaimed in surprise. 
Then, with sudden anxiety, “Is anything 
wrong at your home? Are Dixie, Carol, and 
the baby all right?” 

The boy’s freckled face was beaming, and 
about his manner there was something sug¬ 
gestive of suppressed excitement. “Oh, yes’m, 
thank you, teacher. ’Tisn’t about the girls I 
have come.” Then, almost with embarrass¬ 
ment, he twisted one bare foot over the other 
and looked down. He had sworn an oath to 
Frederick Edrington that he wouldn’t tell 

any one who the camper on the peak had been, 

232 


“RATTLESNAKE SAM” 


233 


and it was hard, very hard for the son of 
Pine Tree Martin to tell anything but the 
square and honest truth. 

Miss Bayley, watching the boy, was indeed 
puzzled. “Dear,” she said kindly, placing a 
hand on his shoulder, “come in, won’t you? 
I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast yet. 
Please stay and share mine with me.” 

The boy’s red-brown eyes lifted quickly. 
“Oh, no’m, teacher, thanks; I couldn’t do 
that. I told Dixie I’d be back, and she’ll be 
waiting, but I—I wanted to tell you that I 
found the—the man who had made the camp¬ 
fire that you saw.” 

Miss Bayley was interested at once. “Oh, 
Ken,” she said, drawing the lad within and 
closing the door. “Surely you can spare a 
minute to tell me about him. Was he a sheep- 
rustler or a train-robber or a bandit, or what¬ 
ever it was you hoped he would be?” 

The boy shook his mop of red-brown hair 
and looked away to hide the joy that was in 
his eyes when he remembered who it had 
been that he had found. “No’m, Miss Bay- 
ley! He said that he was a hermit, and 



234 


DIXIE MARTIN 


that his name was—er—Rattlesnake Sam.” 

“Oh, how interesting, Ken,” the girl-teacher 
exclaimed. “Eve always loved to read stor¬ 
ies about the West; perhaps that was why I 
was so eager to come when I was free to do 
as I pleased; and one of the things that 
fascinated me was the way the men changed 
their names. I often wondered what had hap¬ 
pened in their lives to cause their comrades 
to call them the strange things they did. Of 
course Dick Sureshot, Broncho Bill, and 
names like that are easy to understand, and 
‘Rattlesnake Sam’ merely means, I suppose, 
that this old hermit has killed a great many 
rattlers. He is a very, very old man, is’nt 
he?” 

“Yes’m, Miss Bayley. That is, no’m, I 
mean. I guess he isn’t a hundred yet.” 

The girl-teacher laughed. “Ken,” she 
said, “it’s plain to see that you were terribly 
disappointed to find merely a hermit when 
you had hoped to trail a sheep-rustler. Con¬ 
fess now, you are disappointed, aren’t you?” 

Miss Bayley insisted that the boy look at 
her, and when he did, she found herself puz- 


“RATTLESNAKE SAM” 


235 


zled at the glow that his eager eyes held. 
But, before she could question him further, 
the lad was saying, “Miss Bayley, teacher, the 
old hermit said he wished he had something to 
read, and that’s why I came over this morn¬ 
ing. After school this afternoon he’s coming 
halfway down the trail, and I’m going half¬ 
way up, and I said I’d ask you to loan me a 
book for him.” 

“Oho, so your old hermit can read! Well, 
I’m glad to hear that.” Then the girl-teacher 
turned toward the book-shelves as she said 
meditatively, “I wonder what kind of books 
old hermits like best. One about snakes, do 
you suppose? I sent for one after Mrs. En¬ 
terprise Twiggly told me that it was hard for 
a tenderfoot to tell a stick from a snake just 
at first. Now, whenever I go out, I take 
along the book, but as yet I haven’t met a 
snake.” 

“No’m, you’re not likely to,-” Ken said; 
“not till spring comes again.” 

While he spoke the boy’s eyes roved about, 
and suddenly he saw a large volume lying on 
the window-seat. In it was a mark, for in- 


236 


DIXIE MARTIN 


deed, it was the book Josephine Bayley had 
been reading but the evening before. 

Seizing it, he read the title, then lifted an 
eager face. “Oh, teacher, this one will be 
just right if you can spare it.” 

The tone of the young woman expressed her 
mingled surprise and doubt. “Why, no, Ken, 
an old hermit would not care for Wells. 

But the boy persisted, “Yes’m, teacher, he 
would. Rattlesnake Sam said he liked his¬ 
tory best.” 

“Very well, dear,” Miss Bayley replied 
meekly. Then she added, “Suppose you take 
along this new current-events magazine that 
just came yesterday. Perhaps your old 
hermit would like that, too.” 

“Oh, thank you, teacher, Miss Bayley!” 
How the red-brown eyes were glowing! “An’ 
I’ll tell him that you sent ’em, and he’ll be 
just ever so careful of them.” 

“I’m sure that he will. Good-by, my boy.” 
Then for a moment the girl stood in the open 
doorway, watching the bare brown legs that 
fairly flew down the trail. Turning back to 
complete the preparation of her breakfast, 


“RATTLESNAKE SAM” 


237 


she found herself trying to picture what the 
old hermit looked like. “Perhaps he is some 
dry-as-dust professor, who is studying fossils 
and rocks. He probably had a long gray 
beard, a leathery, wrinkled face, and kindly 
blue eyes that are near-sighted.” Then she 
sighed. Perhaps even Miss Bayley was a lit¬ 
tle disappointed that the builder of the camp¬ 
fire that had so interested her had proved to 
be so old and fogyish. “Well, what does it 
matter? I probably shall never see him,” 
she thought. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 

As Ken descended the trail leading to his 
log-cabin home, he was surprised to see a 
horse and buggy just leaving the drive. In it 
was no other than the banker from Genoa, 
who was so loved by the Martin children. He 
did not seem to see the boy, who hurried on 
down the trail, his heart filled with dread lest 
the keeper of their income had been there to 
report that once again it had diminished. 

This fear was confirmed, or so he believed, 
when he saw Dixie run out of the house and 
toward him, an expression on her face which 
plainly told her brother that her heart was 
perplexed or dismayed. 

“Dix, what’s the matter? Is the money all 
gone? I say. Sis, if it’s that, don’t take it 
hard. I can go to work driving sheep over to 
the Valley Ranch any day! Mr. Piggins said 
so last week.” 


238 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 239 


“ ’Tisn’t money/’ the girl replied, smiling al¬ 
most tremulously, “It’s something different.” 
Then she glanced toward the open door of the 
cabin and drew her brother farther away, but 
he paused and looked back. “Is that Carol 
crying in there? Why don’t you tell me 
what’s happened? I can’t understand at 
all.” 

As soon as they were out of hearing, the 
small girl told the story of recent events. 
“Just after you had gone up to see teacher,” 
she began, “I was cooking the porridge when 
Carol called that Mr. Clayburn was driving 
in, and that that horrid Sylvia was with him. 
Carol hadn’t finished dressing yet, and so she 
was up in the loft, looking out the little 
window. 

“I ran to the door, and, sure enough, that 
was who it was. Mr. Clayburn seemed to be 
terribly worried about something, and that 
peaked little girl of his looked as though she’d 
’most cried her eyes out. 

“When the buggy stopped, he left little 
Sylvia on the seat, and he came in and said: 
‘Dixie Martin, I’ve come to ask you to do me 


240 


DIXIE MARTIN 


a great favor. Fm in deep trouble, and no 
one at this hour can help me as much as you 
can.* Of course I said, ‘Mr. Clayburn, I’ll do 
just anything I can’; and he said, ‘I knew 
you would, Dixie.’ Then he told me that his 
wife had been taken suddenly and very seri¬ 
ously ill, and that she was in a Reno hospital, 
and that he would have to stay there for a 
time to be near her, and that he wanted to 
leave Sylvia with us. Oh, Ken, I just had to 
say that of course we would take her, even 
though I knew how Carol feels about her, and 
so that’s what happened. It’s Sylvia in there 
crying, and Carol’s up in the loft. I climbed 
up to tell her ’bout everything, and she said 
I needn’t expect her to come down-stairs as 
long as that horrid snippy Sylvia Clayburn 
is in the house. She declared she’d stay up 
there and starve unless I’d take her break¬ 
fast up to her. Oh, Ken, what shall we do? 
You can’t blame Carol, ’cause you know 
Sylvia was mean and horrid when our little 
sister was in her hrome.” 

The older brother was indeed puzzled. 

He did not blame Carol, for she had been 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 


241 


most unkindly treated by the mother and 
daughter. “I guess we’ll have to just do what 
we can, Dix,” he said. “Mr. Clayburn’s one 
of the best friends we’ve got, and for his sake 
we’ll have to put up with that—that little 
minx of his.” 

Dixie had been looking thoughtfully down 
into the sunlit valley. She could see a group 
of white buildings partly hidden by cotton¬ 
wood trees. In her gold-brown eyes was the 
far-away expression which often suggested to 
Miss Bay ley that the soul of the girl was be¬ 
holding a vision. The boy’s gaze followed 
hers. Then he turned toward his sister as he 
said gently: “I know what you’re doing. 
You’re trying to remember if Grandmother 
Piggins ever said anything that would help us. 
Aren’t you, Dix?” 

The girl nodded; then, her eyes alight, she 
suddenly exclaimed as she caught his free 
hand,—the other still held the history: “Ken 
Martin, I have it! I just knew I’d remem¬ 
ber something. Once when Sue came home 
from boarding-school she said that she just 
hated her room-mate. She was going to 


242 


DIXIE MARTIN 


be as mean as she could, hoping that the new 
pupil would ask to have her room changed. 
But Grandma Piggins said: ‘Sue, just to 
please me, will you try my way for one week? 
If it doesn’t work, then you may try your 
own? Of course Sue would do anything to 
please her dear old grandmother. Then she 
asked what she was to do. 

“Grandma Piggins said: ‘It’s a game of 
make-believe. First, pretend, in your own 
heart, that you like the new pupil, and that 
you are glad she is your room-mate, and then 
treat her just as you would if you thought 
she was the nicest girl you knew, and, by the 
end of the week, you may find that the pretend 
has come true.’ ” 

“How did it turn out?” the boy inquired. 

“They’re still room-mates,” Dixie told him. 
Then she added: “But come on, Ken, we’d 
better go in. Nobody’s had any breakfast, 
and it’s almost school-time.” The little 
mother sighed. “I don’t see how I can go to 
school this morning,” she said. “I can’t 
leave Carol up in the loft and Sylvia down- 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 


243 


stairs crying her heart out, and neither of 
them speaking to each other.” 

“Ell go to school and take Baby Jim and 
tell teacher that maybe you three girls will 
be along in the afternoon.” Then he added, 
in a low voice, as they walked toward the 
cabin, “If I were you, Dix, I’d ask Carol to 
play Grandma Piggins’s game, but if Sylvia’s 
as horrid as I guess she is, it’ll take a lot of 
Pagination to play it.” 

“Maybe Carol will. Anyway, I’ll ask her,” 
and, with a new hope in her heart, the little 
mother of them all entered the kitchen and be¬ 
gan to dish up the porridge for the long- 
delayed breakfast. 

But, try as the little mother might to be 
cheerful, the meal was a dismal one. 

Baby Jim, usually so sunny, seemed to be af¬ 
fected by the doleful atmosphere, and sud¬ 
denly began to sob as though his little heart 
would break. 

“Dear me! Dear me!” poor Dixie sighed 
as she glanced across the room to where 
Sylvia sat in a miserable heap, her head hid- 


244 


DIXIE MARTIN 


den on her arms, silent now, except for an oc¬ 
casional sob that shook her frail body. 

Up-stairs in the loft there was no sound, and 
Dixie wondered if Carol had covered her head 
with the quilt and was softly crying. How 
she longed to go up and comfort her, but she 
was needed just then in the kitchen. 

Taking the small boy out of his high-chair, 
Dixie looked helplessly across the table at 
Ken, who was gulping down the porridge as 
though it were hard to swallow. 

“Gee, Sis,” he said, “what can be the matter 
with Jim? He’s too little to understand. I 
don’t see why he’s crying so hard. Is there a 
pin pricking him, maybe?” 

“No-o, that’s one thing that couldn’t hap¬ 
pen,” the girl answered with justifiable pride. 
“When he pulls a button off, I stop right that 
minute and sew it back on, so I never have to 
use pins.” Then she added, “Once, when 
young Mrs. Jenkins spanked her baby just 
’cause he was crying, Grandma Piggins said 
the best way to quiet a little fellow was to 
give him something pleasant to think about.” 

Then Ken had an inspiration. “I say, 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 245 


Jimmy-Boy/’ lie began, leaning oyer and 
peering into the tear-wet face that was half 
hidden on Dixie’s shoulder, “if you’ll eat 
every spoonful of your milk and porridge, 
Big Brother will let you ride on Pegasus and 
hold the reins all by your very own self.” 

The dearest desire of the small boy was to 
reach that age when he would be considered 
old enough to sit, unsupported, upon the back 
of the gentle, jogging creature, hold the reins, 
and drive alone. Ken’s offer had been an in¬ 
spiration, for the little fellow’s tears ceased, 
and his face, which Dixie kissed till it was 
rosy, beamed up at her with its sunniest smile. 
Then, once more in his high-chair, he fulfilled 
his share of the bargain by eating porridge to 
the very last mouthful. 

Dixie glanced gratefully over at Ken, mam 
aging to say softly as she passed him on her 
way to the stove, “Stay very close to Pegasus 
w T hen Jimmy takes his first ride, won’t you?” 
Then she added, as she noted an expression of 
reproach in her brother’s eyes, “Of course, 
Ken, I know that you would, anyway.” 

Five minutes later the two boys, hand in 


246 


DIXIE MARTIN 


hand, went outdoors to feed the “live-stock,” 
which consisted of a goat, Pegasus, the burro, 
Topsy and her kittens, the three little hens, 
and Blessing, the pig. As soon as the door 
closed behind them, Dixie went across the 
room and placed her hand on the bent head. 
“Sylvia,” she said kindly, “won’t you come to 
the table and have some breakfast?” 

There was no response. The child curled 
up in the chair did not stir. Pity filled the 
heart of the older girl, and impulsively she 
knelt, and, putting her arm about the frail 
figure, she said tenderly: “Don’t grieve so 
hard, Sylvia. Your father told me your 
mother is sure to get well, You can go home 
again in two short weeks.” 

Then the unexpected happened. The child 
lifted a face that was more angry than sor¬ 
rowing, and sitting erect, she exclaimed 
vehemently. “I’m not crying about my 
mother. I’m crying ’cause I just hate my 
father. He’d no right to bring me to this 
poor folks’ cabin. My mother told him I was 
to be put in a boarding-school where children 
from the best families go. My mother don’t 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST 


247 


want me to associate with poor folks’ families. 
O dear! O dear! What shall I do?” 

The sobbing began afresh, but there was a 
chill in the heart of the older girl, who, almost 
unconsciously, held herself proudly. “Well,” 
she said rather coldly, “since it’s only yourself 
you are pitying, I wish your father had taken 
you somewhere else, but he didn’t. He 
wanted you here with us, and so I suppose you 
will have to stay.” 

Then she asked hopefully, “Sylvia, couldn’t 
you try to be happy here, for your father’s 
sake, just two little weeks? Won’t you try, 
dearie?” 

“No, I won’t!” the pale,, spoiled child 
snapped without looking up. “And I’m not 
going to stay, neither.” 

Dixie sighed, and, turning, she started to¬ 
ward the ladder that led to the loft. Was 
Carol going to be as stubborn as Sylvia was, 
she wondered. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 


A HARD GAME 

Dixie climbed the ladder to the loft and 
looked quickly toward the bed, but the little 
sister whom she sought was not there. Going 
to the curtained-off corner, she quickly drew 
aside the cretonne, and there, sitting on the 
floor, holding fast to the old doll for comfort 
and companionship, was Carol. 

There were no tears in the beautiful violet- 
blue eyes that w’ere lifted, but there was an 
expression in them so hurt that Dixie knew 
that it would be very hard for her little sister 
to forgive their unwelcome guest. Too, when 
she recalled the spoiled girl’s rudeness of a 
moment before, Dixie suddenly resolved that 
she would not ask Carol to put herself in a 
position to be again humiliated as she had 
been in her recent experience in the Clayburn 
home. 

“Dearie,” she said, as she stooped and took 

248 


A HARD GAME 


249 


the warm hand of the younger girl, “please 
come out of that dark, smothery place. I’ve 
thought of a plan, and I want to talk about it 
to you. First of all, I want you to be happy 
’cause this is your home, not Sylvia’s.” 

Carol smiled up gratefully and came out 
willingly. “Oh, Dix,” she said, “what shall 
we do? I don’t want to go down-stairs and 
have to see that mean-horrid girl. Won’t you 
please send her away?” 

Poor Dixie looked her despair, for, after all, 
she was very young herself, and this problem 
seemed too difficult a one for her to solve. 
They owed so much to kind Mr. Clayburn, 
they just couldn’t turn his little girl out of 
their home, but what could they do with her 
in it? 

“I ’most don’t know what to do,” she con¬ 
fessed, turning toward Carol a face that quiv¬ 
ered sensitively. “I was wondering if, maybe, 
you’d like to go over to the Valley Ranch and 
visit. You know Sue’s mother has often 
asked you to come. I didn’t know but maybe 
you’d rather do that than stay here with 
Sylvia.” 


250 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Carol pouted. “No, I don’t want to leave 
my own home. If anybody’s sent over to the 
Valley Ranch, I should think it ought to be 
Sylvia.” The tone in which this was said was 
so reproachful that the perplexed girl could 
be brave no longer, and, throwing herself un¬ 
expectedly upon the bed, she sobbed as Carol 
had never heard her cry before. Feeling that 
she was in some way to blame, she ran to her 
side, exclaiming contritely: “Oh, Dixie, Dixie! 
Please don’t cry that way. I’ll do anything 
you say. I won’t care if Sylvia slaps me even 
—if only you won’t cry.” 

i 

With a glow of happiness in her heart, the 
little mother of them all sat up, and, catching 
the younger girl in her arms, she held her 
close. It was such a comfort to her to know 
that Carol loved her and was willing to do 
something that would be, oh, so hard, to 
prove her love. 

To show that she had really meant the 
hastily-made promise, the younger girl said, 
“Tell me what you want me to do, Dix, and 
I’ll go right this minute and do it.” 

Then Dixie, sitting on the edge of the bed 


A HARD GAME 


251 


and holding fast to the little sister she loved, 
told her, as she had told Ken, about Grand¬ 
mother Piggins’s game of pretend. “It’ll be 
awfully hard to pretend even to myself that 
I like Sylvia Clayburn,” Carol said; “but I’ll 
play that game, Dix, I will, honest, if you 
want me to.” 

“Goodie, let’s start right this very minute,” 
the older girl exclaimed. “Now, remember, 
we’re to pretend that the horrid, rude things 
she will say are pleasant things.” 

The younger girl sighed as she replied, 
“Well, I like hard games, but this one will be 
the hardest that I ever played.” Then, rising, 
she held out her hand as she continued, 
“Come on, Dixie, I’m going down to break' 
fast.” 

What a glad light there was in the plain, 
freckled face of the older girl, and, springing 
to her feet, she kissed her truly beautiful 
younger sister as she whispered: “Thank 
you, dearie, you have made me very happy. 
Now it won’t be half so hard.” Then they 
left the loft and went down the ladder 
together. 


252 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Carol, eager to please Dixie, upon reaching 
the kitchen at once looked about for the small 
visitor whom she was to treat just as though 
she really liked her. She soon spied the little 
figure curled up in the big rocker, and a feel¬ 
ing of real sympathy swept over the heart of 
Carol. 

Sylvia was indeed to be pitied, for she did 
not have a big, brave brother like Ken, nor 
a wonderful sister like Dixie, nor an adorable 
Jimmy-Boy, and, although she did live in a 
much finer house, it was not a real home. 
But, more than all else, the pale, sickly, 
spoiled child was to be pitied because she 
had such a vain, foolish mother. 

Although Carol did not think these things 
out, she nevertheless did feel sorry for the 
little girl who was as unhappy because she 
had to visit them as they were to have her, 
and she decided to make the ordeal easier 
for Dixie by doing her part in the pretend- 
game. 

The elder girl went at once to the stove to 
reheat the porridge for her own and Carol’s 
breakfast, but the younger little maid skipped 


A HARD GAME 


253 


across the room and said pleasantly: “Hello, 
Sylvia! You’ve come to visit us, haven’t 
you? Did you bring your dollie?” 

“No, I didn’t!” was the sullen response. 
“You broke my best doll and I’m never going 
to forgive you. Never! Never!” 

Now this was untrue, for it had been Syl¬ 
via’s own carelessness that had broken the 
doll, as she very well knew. 

The injustice of it was almost more than 
Carol could bear, and her natural inclination 
was to angrily retort and tell the unwelcome 
guest just how “mean-horrid” she really was, 
but that wouldn’t be playing the game, and so, 
with a quick glance across at Dixie, who re¬ 
turned an encouraging smile, Carol silently 
repeated the formula which her big sister had 
suggested before they had left the loft: 
“What would I do or say if I really loved 
Sylvia?” What, indeed? How would Sylvia 
receive her advances? Would the spoiled 
little girl fly into a temper, or would she be 
kind? 

With a long breath, the small girl said, 
“I’m sorry, Sylvia, if you really think that 


254 


DIXIE MARTIN 


I broke your big doll. I wouldn’t have done 
it, not for anything.” 

Then, as Dixie was serving the porridge, 
Carol asked, “Won’t you come over to the 
table and have breakfast with us?” 

“No, I w^on’t,” was the ungracious response. 
“I’m going to starve right here in this very 
chair, and then I guess my father will be 
sorry be brought me to this poor folks’ cabin.” 

Dixie, hearing this cruel retort, glanced 
anxiously across at her little sister, whose 
cheeks were burning, while her violet-blue 
eyes flashed. Would she be able to play the 
game after that, the big sister wondered. 

Six months before the small girl would have 
informed Sylvia that she was a descendant 
of James Haddington-Allen of Kentucky, who 
was “blue-blooded.” 

Before Carol could decide just how to re¬ 
ply, the sweet voice of her sister called her: 
“Come, dear, breakfast is ready! We’ll keep 
the porridge warm, and Sylvia may have some 
nice rich cream and sugar on her share when 
she feels real hungry.” 

Then the two little Martin girls seated 


A HARD GAME 


255 


themselves at the table, and Carol felt well 
repaid for the effort she had made when she 
felt Dixie’s hand clasp hers just for a moment. 
Anger left her heart. What did it matter 
what Sylvia said or thought since Ken and 
Dixie and Jimmykins loved her? 

When breakfast was over, the boys returned 
from feeding the “live-stock,” and then all 
was hurry and scurry while the little mother 
got them off to school. Their unwelcome 
guest had turned the big chair so that the high 
wooden back hid her from their view, but at 
the door Carol paused to call, “Good-by, Syl¬ 
via.” There was no response from across the 
room, but Dixie caught her little sister and 
kissed her, whispering gratefully: “Thank 
you, dear. You are such a help.” Then the 
door closed, and Dixie was left alone with the 
rebellious guest. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 


RUDE LITTLE SYLVIA 

Dixie stood in the open door, watching the 
three children as they climbed the trail, and 
when they reached the top, before they turned 
into the canon road, they waved back to her, 
and the little mother of them all smiled and 
nodded. Then she went into the kitchen with 
a sigh that she tried to change into a song. 
She noticed that the big chair had been turned, 
and that Sylvia was no longer curled up in it, 
but sat, leaning back, her thin legs hanging 
listlessly, for they were not quite long enough 
to reach the floor. 

Sylvia looked so wan and miserable that 
Dixie silently asked herself the question that 
she and Carol had planned for the game: 
“What would I say and do if I really liked 
Sylvia?” 

For a few moments she said nothing as she 

256 


RUDE LITTLE SYLVIA 


257 


went about her morning tasks. Her thoughts 
were busy searching for an answer to her 
query, but it was hard to decide what would 
be best to do, since her former advance had 
been so rudely met. 

Dixie went into the small lean-to room to 
make Ken’s bed and Jimmy-Boy’s crib. When 
she returned she found the blue eyes of the 
little guest watching her. 

“I’m hungry,” Sylvia said, in a tone of voice 
which implied that she was being much abused. 
“I want cake and cocoa.” 

“I am sorry, but we children always have 
porridge for breakfast, and we drink cold 
milk,” Dixie said. Then, fearing that she 
had not been as gracious as a hostess, even an 
unwilling hostess, should be, she added: 
“You can have all the sugar you want on the 
porridge, and the cream is so good/’ 

“Well, you may bring me Some, but I won’t 
promise to eat it,” said the small girl 
condescendingly as she curled one thin leg 
under her and leaned back as though she 
intended to remain indefinitely in that com¬ 
fortable chair. 


258 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The lines of Dixie’s sweet mouth became 
firmer. “Dearie,” she said in a tone which 
convinced the listener that she was in earnest, 
“if you wish breakfast, you must come to the 
table.” Then more gently she added: “If 
you were sick and couldn’t walk, I’d fetch it to 
you on a tray. But you can walk as well as I 
can, Sylvia.” 

The pale-blue eyes opened in unfeigned as¬ 
tonishment. “Why, I have always had my 
breakfast brought to me on a tray,” she said. 
“Fanchon brings it,” 

“Of course you do, dearie, at home, where 
you have a maid to wait on you, but here we 
all wait on ourselves. There now, I’ve put 
your porridge in one of our prettiest kept-for- 
company dishes, and here’s a pitcher of cream 
and the sugar. You may eat it when you are 
ready to come to the table. Now I’m going up 
to the loft to make our bed.” 

Two minutes later Sylvia heard a sweet, 
birdlike voice trilling overhead. Ten min¬ 
utes later, when Dixie reappeared, the small 
guest was sitting at the table eating the deli- 


RUDE LITTLE SYLVIA 259 

cious porridge and cream with hungry enjoy¬ 
ment. 

“It’s ’most as good as cake, isn’t it?” Dixie 
said brightly as she sat by the window to mend. 
There was always something waiting for the 
little mother to patch or darn. 

Sylvia rather grudgingly had to confess that 
the porridge was good, adding that the cream 
in Genoa wasn’t so thick and yellow. 

“Town cream never is, I guess,” Dixie said. 
Then, that the conversation need not lag, she 
told about the recent arrival of the kittens. 

The little hostess glanced sideways, and was 
glad to see an almost eager expression on the 
thin sallow face that was turned toward her. 
“I’ve never seen baby kittens!” Sylvia was 
saying. “I’d like to.” 

Dixie laid down her sewing. “If you’ve fin¬ 
ished your breakfast, I’ll show you all over 
our tiny ranch. We have three hens, too, and 
a piggie and a burro.” 

Together they left the house, and before 
many minutes had passed Sylvia was actually 
laughing, for the goat was kicking frolicsome 


260 


DIXIE MARTIN 


heels up at them as the two little girls stood 
leaning over the rail fence that surrounded the 
small enclosure. After a time they visited the 
shed down near the apple-orchard, and Topsy 
was induced to come forth into the sunlight 
and show her babies, who blinked and winked, 
for their eyes had not been open very long, and 
they wabbled and tumbled down to the great 
delight of the town girl, who had never owned 
a pet. 

“Oh! oh!” she exclaimed joyfully as she 
picked up the snow-white pussy that was grow¬ 
ing whiter and fluffier and more lovable every 
day, “how I’d like to own this kitty-cat. Can 
I have it to take home with me to keep?” 

Dixie hesitated, then she added: “I’m 
sorry, Sylvia, but I couldn’t give Downy-Fluff 
away. Topsy belongs to me, but that little 
white kitty is Carol’s. You may have the 
spotted pussy, if you want him.” 

Sylvia put the white kitten down and walked 
away as she said: “No, I don’t want that one. 
I will tell my father to pay you for that white 
kitten if you don’t want to give it to me.” 


RUDE LITTLE SYLVIA 


261 


Dixie flushed and bit her lips while she hur¬ 
riedly asked herself the game question: 
“What would I say or do if I really loved 
Sylvia?” 

Catching the hand of the child, who was be¬ 
ginning to sulk, the older girl exclaimed 
brightly: “Come on and see Pegasus. You 
may ride him if you wish.” 

The burro came across the barnyard when 
Dixie called, and nosed her pocket, hoping for 
a lump of sugar. 

Sylvia actually clapped her hands with de¬ 
light. “I’ve always wanted to ride on a pony, 
but mother was afraid I would fall. May I 
ride this cunning little horse? He’s so small 
it wouldn’t hurt me if I did fall off.” 

Willingly Dixie put the simple harness over 
the head of the mouse-colored burro, and then 
patiently, for a long hour, she walked around 
and around the house, leading while Sylvia 
rode. At last as it was nearing noon the little 
hostess, weary indeed, suggested that they go 
indoors and have their lunch, and afterwards, 
when Sylvia said she was sleepy, Dixie hung 


262 


DIXIE MARTIN 


the hammock under the pines, and the unwel¬ 
come guest curled up in it, and, lulled by the 
wind in the trees, she was soon asleep. 

Dixie wished that she, too, might rest, but 
with an added member in her family to feed, 
she set about baking, tired but happy because 
she believed that the “pretend game” was 
really progressing. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 


THE YOUNG ENGINEER DREAMS 

Carol and Jimmy-Boy returned alone from 
school, for Ken, with the book he had borrowed 
from “dear teacher” under his arm, had gone 
at once to the top of the low peak, and, having 
shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun that 
was low in the west, he looked toward the high 
mountain beyond. Then, as he did not find 
what he sought, he let his gaze wander slowly 
over the valley that was silvery with sand and 
sagebrush. 

With a sudden whoop of joy, he leaped from 
the rock upon which he had been standing, and 
started running as best he could down the 
trail on the lake side of the low mountain, 
toward a column of wavering smoke which 
could be seen half a mile way, near a stream 
where small trout were plentiful. As he 

approached the place, the column of smoke 

263 


264 


DIXIE MARTIN 


died down, but he no longer needed its guid¬ 
ance for he had reached the rushing, bubbling 
mountain brook and was soon clambering up 
over the jagged rocks, pausing now and then 
to halloo. At first only a hollow echo replied, 
but soon he heard the voice for which he had 
listened. 

“Hi-ho! Friend or foe?” 

“Friend, I’ll say!” Ken joyfully shouted as 
he scrambled over the remaining boulder, and 
found, as he had suspected, a fisherman stand¬ 
ing on the brink of the stream casting a tempt¬ 
ing fly. On the bank at the side of the young 
giant, lay at least two dozen of the shin¬ 
ing trout that would be so delicious when 
fried. 

“Shall I keep quiet?” the boy asked, his eyes 
sparkling as he looked at the catch, but the- 
fisherman shook his head and drew in his 
line. 

“No, sonny, indeed not. You have only a 
few moments to stay, for the days are short 
now. The darkness drops down almost as 
soon as the sun is set. So-ho, you have a book 
for me? A ponderous volume, indeed! 


THE YOUNG ENGINEER 


265 


Wells? Great! I’ll enjoy reading that. 
How long may I keep it?” 

“I—I don’t know. I—I didn’t ask teacher.” 
Then the boy grinned as he seated himself 
astride a rock near one on which Frederick 
Edrington sat turning the pages of the book. 

Looking up suddenly, the young engineer 
asked, “Why so merry?” Then, closing the 
volume, he queried with interest, “What did 
you tell your teacher about me?” 

“I tried not to tell her any lies,” Ken 
declared, “but I’m afraid she sort o’ got the 
idea that you’re a real old man, and, ’cause I 
said that you liked to read history, she took 
the notion that you’re a hermit-professor, and 
that you’re living up here to study out some¬ 
thing, rocks or fossils, whatever that may be.” 

The young man, with hands folded behind 
his thick, waving chestnut-brown hair, 
laughed as he replied, “I’m glad she does, 
although I can’t see quite how she can recon¬ 
cile that image of me with the name of my 
choice.” 

“Oh, I know now!” cried the boy, springing 
up in his eagerness. “Miss Bayley thinks 


266 


DIXIE MARTIN 


you’re a very old man, ’most a hundred, who is 
a naturalist, and she wanted me to ask you if 
you’d like to have her new book on the snakes 
that inhabit these mountains.” 

“Indeed I would! It doesn’t matter what 
—er—your teacher suggests sending to me, 
Ken, tell her I’ll be delighted to have it.” 
The boy, who, just to keep his hands occupied, 
had started whittling, looked up when his 
companion hesitated. Little did he dream 
that on the tip of Frederick Edrington’s 
tongue had been “vision of loveliness,” but, 
since only two days before the engineer had 
declared that he had never been in love, and 
never would be in love, he did not wish to 
awaken in the lad’s mind even a suspicion 
of the real interest with which the “old her¬ 
mit” regarded the young teacher. Rising, the 
fisherman selected twelve of the largest of 
the small trout. “Ken, old pal,” he said, 
“would it be too much to ask you to take 
these to your teacher? I’d like to have her 
see them just as they are, with their glisten¬ 
ing scales still on, but, when she has admired 
them, will you prepare them for her, that 


THE YOUNG ENGINEER 


267 


she may fry them for her supper?” The 
boy had also risen and his eyes were glowing. 
“Bet you, I will,” he declared. “That’ll be a 
jolly fine way for you to say thanks for the 
book.” Then, after promising to return the 
following Saturday, the boy took up the string 
of fish, shook the big hand of the tall friend 
whom he so admired, and started, half¬ 
running, half-sliding down the trailless side 
of the mountain, turning back every few mo¬ 
ments to wave to the young man who stood, 
with arms folded, watching until the lad 
disappeared over the crest of the lower 
mountain on the other side of which lay the 
small hamlet of Woodford’s. 

Then, reseating himself, Frederick Edring- 
ton again opened the big book. As he did so, 
a kodak picture fluttered to the ground. 

With a heart thumping in a most discon¬ 
certing manner, the young man, who “never 
had been in love and never would be in love,” 
stooped to pick it up. 

“Queer now,” he thought, as he gazed long 
at the beautiful face that smiled up at him. 
“Queer now, isn’t it?” 


268 


DIXIE MARTIN 


A wind, rising with the setting of the sun 
and the cool rush of the waters, was all the 
reply that he heard, and feeling happier than 
he had in many a day, he returned to his 
camp. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 


THE PRETEND-GAME 

The sun had set, but the western sky above 
the mountains was a glory of radiant colors 
when Ken leaped upon the low porch in front 
of a small log cabin and knocked eagerly upon 
the closed door. Instantly it was opened, and 
Josephine Bay ley, in a blue bungalow apron, 
appeared. Her face gladdened at sight of 
the small lad who was holding up a string 
of glistening fish. 

“Oh, Ken, did you catch those for me?” 
The young woman took the proffered gift and 
held it up in the soft crimson light that re¬ 
flected back from the other side of the canon. 

“No’m, teacher, ’twasn’t me, though how I 
do wish it had been! It was—er— Oh, yes, 
Rattlesnake Sam caught them, and he said 
he’d like me to dress them after you’d seen 
how pretty they are with their scales on.” 



270 


DIXIE MARTIN 


For one panicky moment the small boy had 
forgotten his friend’s assumed name, and he 
had been on the verge of saying “Mr. Edring- 

ton. ” What a narrow escape that had been! 
For a second he was hardly conscious that 
Miss Bayley was speaking, then he realized 
that she was asking him if the “old gentle¬ 
man” had liked the book she had loaned him. 
“Oh, yes’m, teacher, Miss Bayley. Rattle¬ 
snake Sam, he said ‘Great!’ when he saw it, 
and—and he told me he’d like the snake book, 

too, if you’d loan it to him. I’m going up to 
his camp next Saturday, so I could pack it 
along then if you could spare it.” 

The girl-teacher laughed. “I can spare it 
all right until next spring. Since all of the 
snakes have hibernated for the wdnter, I can’t 
get near enough to one to see if he looks like 
his picture.” Then, at the small boy’s sug¬ 
gestion, she gave him the string of trout and 
he at once began, in a manner that showed 
his skill, to prepare them for the frying-pan. 
“Won’t you stay and share them with me, 
Ken?” the girl-teacher asked, really hoping 
that he would accept. 


THE PRETEND-GAME 


271 


“Oh ? no’m, thank you, I couldn’t. Dixie 
will be expecting me back, and—and—we’re 
sort of haying trouble oyer at our house.” 

“Ken! Trouble?” anxiously. “Why didn’t 
you tell me this afternoon and I would 
have gone to Dixie at once. I meant to ask 
you after school why my little leader-of-songs 
was absent, but you disappeared so quickly 
after the bell for dismissal rang that I could 
not, and then I looked for Carol, and saw that 
she and Jimmy-Boy were running for home as 
fast as his chubby legs could go. Tell me, 
dear, what is wrong? Can I help?” 

Ken had finished preparing the small fish, 
and had placed them side by side on a platter 
that his teacher had brought out. He handed 
the dish to her, and having wiped his knife, he 
closed it before he replied. 

“It’s a queerish kind of trouble,” he said. 
Then he told the story, beginning with Mr. 
Clayburn’s great kindness to them, and end¬ 
ing with the favor which he had asked them 
to do for him. “Of course Dixie’s right, she 
always is, but it’s awful uncomfortable hav¬ 
ing some one in the house who won’t speak 


272 


DIXIE MARTIN 


pleasant when she’s spoken to.” Then the 
troubled expression vanished as the lad de¬ 
clared brightly, “I shouldn’t wonder, though, 
if by now Dixie has won the game.” 

Miss Bayley looked puzzled. “What game, 
dear?” she inquired. The lad explained the 
pretend-game which Grandmother Piggins 
had originated when Sue had disliked her 
room-mate. “That blessed old lady,” the 
young teacher declared warmly. Then she 
added: “And that blessed sister of yours, 
too. Of course she has won the game, Ken, 
and I’ll prophesy that you’ll all be in school 
to-morrow with your guest. Please tell Syl¬ 
via Clayburn that the teacher of the Wood¬ 
ford’s Canon school will be so glad to have 
her, either as a visitor or as a pupil, just as 
she may prefer.” 

“Thanks, Miss Bayley, Dixie’ll be power¬ 
ful grateful to you for sending that message, 
and now I must be goin’ along. It gets dark 
awful early, doesn’t it? Good-by, teacher!” 

The lad had not gone far through the deep¬ 
ening dusk when he heard a sweet voice call¬ 
ing after him, “Ken, do you think your old 


THE PRETEND-GAME 273 

hermit would let me go fishing with him some 
day?” 

“Ill—I’ll ask him,” was the lad’s reply; 
then he raced off into the darkness of the 
canon. 

Here was a new problem, and one which the 
small boy might have realized was ahead of 
him. If his beloved Miss Bayley ever saw 
Frederick Edrington, she’d know T he wasn’t 
an “old hermit,” and, worse than that, she’d 

know that Ken hadn’t told the square-honest 

! 

truth. 

But he felt better when he recalled that the 
young engineer very much disliked girls, and 
so, of course, he w r ould keep in hiding, and 
equally of course it w r ould not be very long 
before he would leave the mountain country. 

How Ken wished that he had never agreed 
to let teacher think that Mr. Edrington was 
so old. To be sure, he hadn’t really told any 
lies. What he had said was that the man 
w^ho had built the camp-fire had said that 
his name was Rattlesnake Sam, and Mr. Ed- 
rington had said that, and of course even 

i 

teacher knew it was an assumed name. Then, 


274 


DIXIE MARTIN 


when she had asked if the camper was old, 
Ken hadn’t said he was old; he had replied 
that Rattlesnake Sam wasn’t a hundred yet. 
But, after all, he hadn’t been square-honest. 
He could hardly wait until Saturday to ask 
Mr. Edrington if he might tell teacher the 
whole truth. 

When Ken neared the log cabin, he sud¬ 
denly stopped and listened as though he were 
much surprised at what he heard. Surely 
that was Dixie singing, and Carol piping in at 
the chorus. Then, when the song was fin¬ 
ished, there was a joyful clapping of small 
hands. What could it mean, he wondered. 
Ken had dreaded this home-coming, believing 
that he would find the girls both on the verge 
of tears after a long hard day of playing the 
pretend-game. 

A bright light streamed out of the cabin 
window, beckoning the lad to approach. Be¬ 
fore going around to the door, he glanced 
in, and was truly amazed at the pretty sight 
that he saw. His sisters were preparing the 
evening meal, Dixie at the stove and Carol 
placing on the table the best kept-for-company 


THE PRETEND-GAME 


275 


dishes. This, however, was not what amazed 
the boy, for he often beheld a similar scene 
when he returned home after dark. The un¬ 
usual part of the picture was the small girl 
who sat on a low stool, holding two kittens, 
one snow-white and one spotted with black. 
The watchful mother-cat was lying on the 
bear-skin rug near by. 

Ken actually blinked his eyes hard, and then 
opened them wide again to reassure himself 
that he was not dreaming. Could that smil¬ 
ing little girl be the disagreeable and unwel¬ 
come guest of but eight hours before? It 
was indeed Sylvia. She had awakened from 
her nap that afternoon greatly refreshed, and 
had been eager to again ride upon the mouse- 
colored burro. This time she had declared 
that she was not afraid to ride alone, and so 
the little hostess, after starting her down the 
road toward the apple-orchard, had returned 
to her task in the kitchen, but often she had 
looked out of the window, when Sylvia, with 
a merry halloo, had announced that she was 
returning. 

So courageous did the small girl become 


276 


DIXIE MARTIN 


that one time she had actually urged Pegasus 
to canter, and then, as she rode past the open 
door, her shout had been one of triumph. 
Dixie, skipping to answer the call, had been 
glad indeed to see that the pale face of their 
little guest was flushed with excitement and 
real pleasure. When at last Sylvia, w T eary 
but happy, had entered the kitchen, she had 
exclaimed, as she sank down in the big chair, 
“That was the best fun I ever had in my whole 
life!” 

In the heart of Dixie there had been a 
prayer of gratitude because dear old Grandma 
Piggins’s pretend-game had been such a suc¬ 
cess, but of this she said nothing. “I’m glad, 
dear,” had been her quiet reply; “you may 
ride every day if you wish, while you are 
with us.” 

Then, when Carol came home from school, 
Sylvia had at once said that she wished she 
could have the snow-white kitten. Almost 
unconsciously Carol had asked herself the 
question, “What would I do if I really loved 
Sylvia?” In a burst of generosity which de¬ 
lighted as much as it surprised Dixie, the 


THE PRETEND-GAME 


277 


small girl replied almost at once, “You may 
have Downy-Fluff for your very own pussy if 
—if you’d like to.” 

Then the unexpected happened. The little 
guest, perhaps for the very first time in her 
short life, considered some one else’s wishes. 
“'Why, Carol Martin,” she exclaimed, “your 
sister Dixie said you loved that pussy so much 
you wouldn’t want to give it away.” 

“I do love Downy-Fluff,” the other little 
girl had replied. 

“Then why did you say that I could have 
her for keeps?” To the small girl who had 
never had an unselfish impulse, this act was 
incomprehensible. 

“Because I want to make you happy, Syl¬ 
via,” had been the quiet reply. 

Then, before more could be said, Carol had 
announced that she was going out to the shed 
and bring Topsy and her pussy-babies into the 
cabin. 

That had happened about an hour before 
the return of Ken, and during that hour there 
had been a brand-new emotion stirring in the 
heart of Sylvia Clayburn, which just before 


278 


DIXIE MARTIN 


bedtime prompted the small girl to perform 
the first unselfish act of her eight years. 

Ken was about to take Topsy and the kit¬ 
tens back to the shed when Sylvia, rising, 
went to Carol, and, holding out the snow- 
white kitten, said: “Here’s Downy-Fluff. 
She wants you to cuddle her good-night.” 
Then stooping, she picked up the less at¬ 
tractive pussy that was rubbing against her 
foot. Smiling at the astonished Carol, she 
said: “I’m going to have this one for my 
very own kitten. Dixie said I might, and 
anyway, I think Spotty’s kind of lonesome, 
’cause nobody loves her nor wants her, the 
way they do Downy-Fluff.” 

And Ken, listening, knew that his sisters 
had won the “pretend-game.” 

Miss Josephine Bayley was not at all sur¬ 
prised the next morning to see the four little 
Martins appear above the ridge of the canon 
road. Carol and Dixie were trudging side by 
side, while Ken, with a stick in his hand, was 
walking beside the mouse-colored burro, on 
which rode no less a small personage than 
Sylvia Clayburn, whose thin, sallow face was 


THE PRETEND-GAME 


279 


beaming above the yellow curls of the four- 
year-old, who sat in front of her. 

When the schoolhouse was reached, Ken 
lingered behind to tie the burro in a grassy 
spot, and Dixie, taking their guest by the 
hand, led her into the little log schoolhouse. 

“Miss Bayley,” she said to the young 
teacher, who at once approached them, “this 
is little Sylvia Clayburn. She thought she’d 
like to come just as company to-day. She’ll 
be going back to Genoa in two weeks, so 
maybe that wouldn’t be time to really start 
having lessons.” 

“We are very glad to have Sylvia with us 
as a guest or as a pupil, just as she prefers,” 
Miss Bayley said, as she took the frail, claw¬ 
like hand of the child who had never been 
strong. “Carol, your seat is wide enough for 
two little girls, isn’t it? I am sure that Syl¬ 
via would rather sit with you than be alone, 
wouldn’t you, dear?” 

To the surprise of the younger Martin girl, 
she found that she was actually pleased when 
Sylvia somewhat shyly nodded her head and 
slipped her hand trustingly into that of the 


280 


DIXIE MARTIN 


other little maid. She no longer had to ask 
herself the pretend-game question, for she 
really did like their little guest, and she was 
even eager to have her for a seat-mate. 

As usual the morning session began with 
singing, and the teacher said: “Now that it 
is nearly November, I am going to suggest 
that we begin to learn a Thanksgiving song. 
I have written the words on the board. I will 
sing it first, Dixie, that you may get the 
tune; then we will go over it all together.” 

The pupils read the poem aloud, that they 
might become familiar with the words that 
told the many simple things which small boys 
and girls had to be thankful for. Then the 
teacher sang it, first alone, later with Dixie. 
There was a lilting little chorus that even 
Sylvia soon could sing, and the girl-teacher 
smiled as she glanced down at her. It was 
plain to note that this new experience—for 
Sylvia had never before been in a school¬ 
room—was greatly interesting the little 
guest. 

Then the reading-hour began and MisS 
Bayley suggested the much-loved story of 



THE PRETEND-GAME 


281 


Cinderella, Each pupil, sufficiently ad¬ 
vanced, read two pages, and, as the special 
fairy-tale reader was passed about, it at last 
came to Carol. When that little maid was 
seated again, Miss Bayley smilingly said, 
“Perhaps our little guest will read a page to 
us.” 

No longer afraid, that small girl willingly 
read the story, with which she was familiar, 
and a flush of pleasure appeared in her pale 
face when the kind teacher said encourag¬ 
ingly, “You read very well indeed, Sylvia, 
just as though you were telling something 
that really had happened.” 

The old grandfather’s clock was soon chim¬ 
ing ten, and then the pupils flocked out into 
the golden October day, where Sylvia, for 
the very first time in her short life, found 
herself actually playing games with children 
who were not from the best families. 

Maggie Mullet caught her hand in a ring- 
around game, and at another time Sylvia 
actually chose Mercedes Guadalupe for a 
partner in a hide-and-seek game. 

That noon found the small girl, whose 


I 


282 DIXIE MARTIN 

chief diet had been candy and cake, so 
hungry that she gladly accepted the thick 
sandwich offered by Dixie, and ate it almost 
as ravenously as did Ken. It was during the 
lunch hour that Miss Bayley beckoned to 
Dixie from the open door of the log school- 
house. Excusing herself, the glad-eyed little 
girl bounded away from the others, wonder¬ 
ing what dear teacher had to tell her,—some 
plan, she was sure, for Carols birthday 
“s’prise.” 


/ 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 


ken’s talk with teacher 

A week passed, and what a week crowded 
with wonderful events it had been. 

November came, in the same golden glory 
that October had gone out. 

“Doesn’t winter ever come to your mountain 
countr} 7 ?” the teacher asked Ken one day, and 
the lad, after searching the soft, hazy blue 
of the sky for a threatening cloud, shook his 
head. “There’ll be winter enough soon, Miss 
Bayley,” he said, as one who knew from the 
experience of having lived through fourteen 
of those blizzardous seasons. Then the lad 
was silent as he trudged along by the side of 
the young woman whom he so admired. It 
was Friday afternoon, and the boy was “pack¬ 
ing” the books for teacher. 

“A bright new penny for your thoughts, 
Ken,” Miss Bayley suddenly exclaimed. 

283 


284 


DIXIE MARTIN 


They had reached her doorstep, and she held 
out her hand for the packet he was carrying. 

The lad actually flushed. “I—er—I was 
wondering if—that is, I was hoping that 
somebody would be marryin’ soon.” 

“Goodness, Ken!” said the young teacher, 
her eyes showing surprise. “I didn’t suppose 
that small boys were ever match-makers. Is 
there any one around here who is contemplat¬ 
ing matrimony? Sue Piggins is too young, 
isn’t she? I have seen her driving on Sunday 
afternoon with Ira Jenkins of late, but—” 

“Oh, no’m, Miss Bayley,” the small boy 
hastened to say. “I wasn’t thinking of Sue 
and Ira. Mis’ Piggins wouldn’t hear of her 
daughter marrying a blacksmith’s boy. I— 
er—I was thinking of a rich girl in the South; 
I guess she lives there, and I was a-wishing 
as how she’d marry the Lord of Dunsbury.” 

After a puzzled moment, Josephine Bayley 
laughed merrily. “Boy,” she said, shaking a 
finger at him, “you’ve been reading one of 
Mrs. Jenkins’s yellow-covered novels. Mrs. 
Enterprise Twiggly tells me that the black¬ 
smith’s wife reads novels even while she pares 



KEN’S TALK WITH TEACHER 285 


potatoes or scrubs the floor, and there is al¬ 
ways a rich girl marrying a lord in one of 
them.” 

Ken grinned rather sheepishly. 

“I don’t wonder that you think I’m loony, 
Miss Bayley,” he acknowledged. “I—er was 
hoping that Rattlesnake Sam could come 
down from the mountains before the blizzards 
set in.” Then, fearing that he would have to 
reveal his friend’s secret if he said another 
word, he started to run back down the trail, 
calling over his shoulder: “Good-night, Miss 
Bayley. I’ll see you at the party to-morrow. 
The girls are terribly excited.” 

“Gee,” he thought, as he went more slowly 
after entering the dusk of the canon that was 
caused by the sheltering pine-covered stone 
wall that shut out the sun, although it was 
still golden in the valley and on the far peaks. 
“I ’most spilled the beans that time. I’d hate 
awful to have Miss Bayley find out that 
Rattlesnake Sam isn’t an old, old ‘fossil,’ 
whatever that may be. An’ I’d hate to have 
Mr. Edrington think I couldn’t keep his se¬ 
cret, but it came oyer me so all of a sudden 


286 


DIXIE MARTIN 

that to-morrow will be November sixth, 
Carol’s birthday, and last year we had an 
awful storm that day, though often the real 
blizzards don’t set in till Christmas.” Then, 
as he thought of something more joyful, he 
began to whistle. “Gee, but I’ll sure be glad 
when the snow does come, for then Mr. Ed- 
rington’s coming down to live with us, and 
hide up in our loft, if his aunt should prowl 
around trying to find him to make him marry 
that girl he doesn't want. Aunts are queer!” 
the lad continued to soliloquize as he saun¬ 
tered along more slowly, swinging a stick he 
had cut from a tree as he passed. “There’s 
our great-aunt now. Dixie says she's rich 
as anything, and that she lives in such a big 
house in the South that she could put four 
little children like us in it and not miss the 
room we’d take the least mite.” Then, as he 
turned into the trail that led down toward 
their own picturesque log cabin, the boy’s 
heart warmed wfith a sense of pride and 
ownership. “Far as I’m concerned,” he de¬ 
cided, “I’d heaps rather live right here than I 
would with our mother’s priggish Aunt 


KEN’S TALK WITH TEACHER 287 


Judith, even if she does own acres and acres, 
and live in a sort of a mansion with white 
pillars.” 

A moment later Dixie appeared in the open 
door for she had heard a familiar whistle and 
the tune was one they both loved— “Be it 
ever so humble, there is no place like home.” 

“Be careful, Ken, that you don’t even hint 
about the party,” the older girl whispered. 
“Carol hasn’t an inkling of an idea, and we 
want to s’prise her.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 


carol’s birthday s’prise 

“Happy birthday!” Dixie cried the moment 
that she was sure that the pretty violet eyes 
of her sister were really open. 

“Oh, goodie! I’m nine years old to-day. 
Sylvia, are you awake?” Carol then called 
to the little guest who was sleeping on a cot 
bed in another part of the big loft room over 
the kitchen of the log cabin. 

That small maiden sat up and nodded. Al¬ 
though she was still thin, a remarkable 
change had taken place in the one week that 
she had lived with “poor folks.” She actually 
looked interested and happy, and there was a 
flush in the sallow cheeks, for even in seven 
days plenty of porridge and cream, hours of 
riding on the mouse-colored burro, and no 
candy and cake had begun to transform her 

from a sickly, spindling child to one who, 

288 


CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 289 


were the pleasant simple ways continued, 
would soon be rosy and robust. 

“Happy birthday, Carol,” Sylvia called 
gleefully. Then she added. “There’s a 
s’prise coming to-day.” 

“Oh, goodie, what is it?” The younger of 
the Martin sisters was already dressing, for 
Dixie had said that “whatever you do on your 
birthday you will do all the year,” and so 
great had been the change in Carol that she 
now actually wished to be down-stairs in time 
to help her older sister prepare breakfast. 

Ten minutes later they were all in the 
kitchen. Carol’s pretty face was flushed with 
excitement. “If there’s a s’prise for me,” she 
said, “why can’t I have it now?” 

The others shook their heads. Ken, who 
had come in with a pail brimming with 
creamy milk, looked up at the clock, and then 
began to count. “Oh, it’s hours and hours 
before the real surprise is to begin,” he said 
to tease. 

“But I can’t wait hours and hours. I just 
can’t. I’ll burst with curiosity! I know 
that I will,” the small girl declared as she 


290 


DIXIE MARTIN 


brought Baby Jim from his crib and began to 
dress the little fellow. 

Only a few months before, as Dixie could 
easily recall, this same little maid had pouted 
and felt very much abused if she had been 
asked to perform this loving service for her 
small brother. What gratitude there was in 
the heart of the little mother of the brood that 
glorious sixth of November. 

Ken was straining the milk. Sylvia was 
setting the table. “Let’s use the best kept- 
for-company dishes all day,” Dixie said. 
“Birthdays are very special.” 

This was done. Then, while the five chil¬ 
dren sat about the board, eating the porridge 
and cream, on which bananas had been sliced 
to make it “extra better,” as Ken declared, 
Carol began to tease first one and then an¬ 
other. “Sylvia,” she accused, “I know, by a 
sort of laughing look in your eyes, that you 
know just what the s’prise is to be.” 

“Of course she knows, and so do we all,” 
Dixie put in, “but we won’t any of us tell, not 
until the clock strikes two. Then it’s going 
to happen.” 


CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 291 


Carol clapped her hands. “Oh! Oh! It’s 
something that’s going to happen, is it?” 
Then, whirling unexpectedly and facing her 
big brother, she challenged: “Ken Martin, I 
never knew you to tell a lie in your whole life, 
and so I’m going to ask you. Is the surprise 
going to happen here in this house?” 

“Don’t you tell, brother,” Dixie warned. 

The laughing lad sprang up. “I'm off for 
the Valley Ranch. Won’t be back till lunch.” 
Then, seizing his hat, he darted away, stop¬ 
ping in the door to say, “Now, if Carol finds 
out, it won’t be from me.” 

Such a merry morning as those three girls 
had. Jimmy-Boy was too young to under¬ 
stand what the laughter and bantering was 
all about. At last lunch was over; Ken had 
returned, and the excitement in that old log 
cabin was tense, for the two older Martins 
and their guest were preparing for the sur¬ 
prise trying all the time to hide even the 
simplest of these preparations from the curi¬ 
ous gaze of the one most interested. 

At last it was half-past one and time to 
dress. The three small girls had climbed the 


292 


DIXIE MARTIN 


ladder to the loft, and Dixie looked often at 
her small sister, who was donning the very 
best gingham and buttoning it down the 
front. Now and then the violet eyes glanced 
across the room to where Sylvia Clayburn 
stood arrayed in her pretty pink silk dress, 
but the sigh of yearning that arose to Carol's 
lips was quickly changed to a song. 

Tears sprang to the eyes of the little mother, 
and, kissing the flushed cheek of the small 
girl who was nine that day, she said softly: 
“Carol, dearie, how long and beautiful your 
curls are this year. They hang almost down 
to your waist now, and they’re so shimmery 
and silky.” 

The younger sister, knowing that Dixie was 
trying to help her count her blessings, smiled 
up beamingly, and little Sylvia crossed the 
room, and, taking one of the truly beautiful 
curls in her frail hand, she said: “You’d 
ought to be so happy ’cause you have them, 
hadn’t she, Dix? My hair looks as though 

the color’d been all washed out, and it’s 

» v 

straight as anything.” 


CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 293 


Carol glanced at the head of her little 
friend. The pale yellow hair wasn’t a bit 
pretty, but Dixie was saying: “Sylvia, don’t 
you mind a thing about it yet. Lots of times 
hair grows darker. I’ve heard Sue Piggins 
say that hers was nearly like yours when she 
was eight and now look at it, a heap of sunny 
gold.” 

“Somebody’s driving in,” Carol exclaimed. 
“Who do you suppose it is?” 

“Go down and see,” Dixie suggested. 

The smaller girl, having heard the clock 
strike two, was sure that the “s’prise” was 
about to take place, and so she scrambled 
down the ladder that led from the loft to the 
kitchen. Skipping to open the door, she be¬ 
held on the porch no less a personage than 
Miss Josephine Bayley, and with her was Sue 
Piggins, while behind them loomed a tall 
youth who was Ira Jenkins, the blacksmith’s 
good-natured, very shy, and much-overgrown 
son. 

Miss Bayley held out both hands and kissed 
Carol first on one cheek and then on the other. 


294 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“Happy birthday, dear,” she exclaimed, “and 
may you have many more, and all as happy as 
I am sure that this one is.” 

The flushed little girl looked up at the 
young teacher with glowing eyes. “Oh! 
Oh!” she cried, “Now I know what the s’prise 
is. It’s a party!” She whirled to find Dixie, 
Sylvia, and Ken standing back of her in the 
big sunny kitchen. Jimmy-Boy was taking 
his nap. 

The older sister nodded. “That’s part of 

\ 

the surprise,” she began, when the awkward 
Ira stepped forward and handed Carol a long, 
flat box, as he said, “Here’s ’nother part of it.” 

How the violet eyes sparkled. “It’s a 
present, I do believe!” the small girl cried. 
“Oh, Dix, do see, here’s a box with a present 
in it. Who do you ’spose it is from?” 

“Open it and see,” her sister, who was 
trembling with excitement, suggested. This 
was a wonderful hour for Dixie, an hour long 
dreamed of, but one that she had sometimes 
feared would never come true. 

Carol was so eager that her small fingers 
just could not untie the strings, and so Ken 


CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 295 


sprang forward and offered the services of the 
two-bladed knife of which he was so proud. 

Snap! Snap! The cord was sundered. 
Then Carol was about to lift the cover, when 
Dixie laid her hand on her sister’s. “Guess 
first, wdiat’s in it,” she suggested, wishing to 
prolong the thrilling moment. 

“I say, Dix, that isn’t fair,” Ken interceded. 

i 

So the small girl was permitted to lift the top 
and peep into the folds of soft tissue paper. 

As she gazed at her very first blue silk 
dress, those who loved her were amazed to see 
that she grew very pale, then tears rushed 
into her lovely violet eyes, and, turning to her 
older sister, she threw her arms about that 
small girl and sobbed as though her heart 
would break. 

“Why, why, Carol, are—are you dis¬ 
appointed, dear? Isn’t it the color you’ve 
been wanting?” Dixie felt as though she, too, 
would have to cry, but the younger girl lifted 
her head and smiled through her tears. “I’m 
crying ’cause I’m so glad, glad, glad! 
There’s lace in the neck and sleeves, just the 
way I’ve always wanted, and there’s ruffles!” 



296 


DIXIE MARTIN 


How every one laughed, and then Sylvia 
spied a card in the silken folds. 

This she pounced upon, handing it to Carol. 
“I know it!” that shining-eyed maiden ex¬ 
claimed. “It’s a gift from Dixie and from 
dear teacher.” 

Then it was that Ira remembered some¬ 
thing, and darted out of the house and back to 
the buggy. 

Dixie, the little mother of the brood of Mar¬ 
tins, knew just why Carol had cried, for when 
the second box was opened, and in it was 
found a silk dress, the shimmery green of 
springtime, she felt as though she, too, would 
cry. She said little, although her wonderful 
gold-brown eyes were eloquent. 

Miss Bayley went with her to the loft to 
help her don her new dress, and when they 
reappeared, the others actually stared, for 
Dixie looked almost pretty. In fact, Ken, as 
he glanced about at the guests, thought that, 
in some way he couldn’t just describe she was 
the best-looking girl there. 

Miss Bayley saw it, too, that something in 
the face they had called plain, which seemed 


CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 297 


to prophesy that the young lady who-was-to- 
he would be called beautiful. Perhaps it was 
the glow of happiness which was making the 
little hostess so radiant; perhaps it was the 
new way that dear teacher had combed the 
red-gold hair, which, when loosened from its 
tight braid, waved and curled in little ringlets 
above her ears. Moreover, for the very first 
time, her head was adorned with a witching 
big, pale-green, butterfly bow. On Carol’s 
curls was another like it, only it was the color 
of the sky in June. 

Ken had disappeared, though no one had 
noticed it. Suldenly there came a tapping 
on an outer door, and when Sylvia, being 
nearest, skipped to open it, in walked Topsy 
with a red bow around her neck, while Spotty 
and Downy-Fluff followed, wearing smaller 
neck-ribbons. 

Ken, who had been hiding for a moment, 
bounded in after them, grinning his delight as 
he said, “I thought maybe the kits would like 
to come to the party, and if I’d had a pink rib¬ 
bon, I’d have brought Blessing in, too.” 

“Goodness! I’m glad you didn’t have,” Sue 


298 


DIXIE MARTIN 


exclaimed. “I’ve been brought up with pigs, 
but I don’t like them, even yet, leastwise not 
for pets.” 

Sylvia seemed to be watching for some one. 
Every few minutes she would run to the win¬ 
dow and look up toward the canon road. 

“I wonder if she’s ’spectin’ a s’prise, too?” 
Carol said softly to Dixie. That little maid 
declared that she didn’t know what Sylvia 
was watching for. Then, at Miss Bayley’s 
suggestion, games were played, such as 
hide-the-thimble and drop-the-handkerchief. 
When every one was laughing and shouting 
with interest and excitement, there came a 
loud knocking at the door. 

Sylvia put her hand on her heart and cried, 
“Oh! Oh! I do believe it’s come, and I had 
forgotten to watch.” 

She leaped to open the door, and the others 
crowded round, wondering what they were to 
see. It was no less a personage than Mr. 
Hiram Tressler, the stage-driver. 

“Howdy!” he began, his leathery face 
wrinkling in a pleasant smile. “This here’s 
one of the boxes, Miss Clayburn, but the other 



“It’s a birthday present from me.”— Page 299. 
























. 















CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 299 


one that yer pa sent over is too heavv for me 

V 

to cart clown the trail all alone. Maybe now 
Ken and Iraki better come up and help me 
h’ist it out o' the stage.” 

The boys sprang forward with alacrity, and 
followed the old driver back up the steep trail. 
T\ hile they were gone, Sylvia, her face flushed 
with pleasure, handed a long, narrow box to 
Carol. “It’s a birthday present from me,” 
she said. 

In that box was the most beautiful doll that 
the little girl had ever seen. “Why, it’s 
prettier even than the one that—that—” 
Carol could say no more, but turned tear- 
brimmed eyes toward the giver of the treas¬ 
ured gift. 

Joy shone in Sylvia’s pale-blue eyes. It 
was the first time that she had ever known the 
great happiness of giving a present to some 
one. Impulsively she stepped forward, and, 
kissing the girl who was holding the doll in 
her arms, she said softly: “Carol, I’ve been 
just mean and horrid. I knew all the time 
that you didn’t break my dolly, and—and I 
asked Papa to get this one for your birthday. 


300 


DIXIE MARTIN 


I’m sorry, and—and I love yon now, just like 
you were a really, truly sister.” 

They were too young to know that this love 
was the greatest gift that was given to Carol 
on her ninth birthday. 

“What do you s’pose the boys went to get?” 
Sue Piggins was peering out of the door and 
up toward the trail as she spoke. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ’spect Mr. Tressler 
to bring anything more’n just the box with 
the doll in it, and that’s here,” Sylvia said as 
she, too, peered out curiously. 

“The stage is driving up the canon,” Sue 
reported to the others in the living-room, “so 
maybe it wasn’t anything for us after all.” 
But Sylvia’s sharp eyes caught sight of the 
two big boys who were coming slowly 'down 
the trail, carrying something between them. 
“Oh! Oh! I know!” she cried excitedly. 
“It’s ice-cream in a freezer!” 

Mr. Claybum had sent it, and since Sue had 
brought a wonderful frosted cake as a gift 
from her mother, Dixie at once laid out the 
best kept-for-company dishes, and refresh¬ 
ments were served. An hour later, when the 



CAROL’S BIRTHDAY S’PRISE 301 


guests departed, Ken went with them to help 
dear teacher into the buggy. He looked up at 
her with shining eyes. “Oh, gee-whizzle, 
look’t the sky, Miss Bayley!” he exclaimed. 
“I do believe a blizzard’s coming. How I do 
hope ’tis!” 

Miss Bayley looked her surprise. “Why, 
Ken,” she said, “how strange! Do you hon¬ 
estly want this glorious autumn weather to 
turn into a blizzard?” 

“Yes’m, that is, I—er—I mean I’d like to 
have Rattlesnake Sam come down from the 
mountains and pay us a visit,” the lad stam¬ 
mered, growing red as though he were 
embarrased. 

Ira was starting the horses and so Miss 
Bayley said no more, but she was puzzled, and 
wondered if anything had happened to the 
imagination of her best pupil in mathematics. 



CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 

THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 

The threatening blizzard broke over the 
Sierra Nevadas about sundown, and for three 
days it raged. Ken seemed to be hilariously 
excited, and Dixie, Carol, and Sylvia won¬ 
dered about it. The snow, which had com¬ 
menced falling the first night, did not cease, 
and had it not been that the lad worked un¬ 
tiringly with a shovel, the animals and hens 
would have been without food. 

At last Dixie suggested that the lean-to 
shed, which was back of the kitchen, should be 
occupied by the three hens, the small pig, and 
the goat. 

“Topsy and the two kittens can come in 
with us. I always make her a bed back of 
the stove when the winter storms come,” the 

little mother explained to Sylvia. 

302 


THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 303 


“But what shall you do with Pegasus?” 
that small maiden asked. 

That was indeed a problem. “We didn’t 
have our burro last winter/’ Dix said. Then 
she added, “What shall we do with him, Ken? 
When the snow piles up half-way to the top 
of the house, you can’t keep a path shoveled 
out to the barn. We’ll just have to bring 
Pegasus in somewhere.” 

The lad rubbed his ear, which was stinging 
with the cold, for he had but recently come in 
from the storm. “I dunno,” he finally con¬ 
ceded, “unless we put him in the lean-to shed 
and tie him up in one corner. Then we can 
sort of fence off the three other corners and 
put the goat in one and the hens in the other, 
and Blessing in the last.” 

How Sylvia laughed. “I never had so 
much fun before in all my life,” she confessed. 
Monday came and although the storm was 
not raging quite as furiously as it had been, 
still the four children could not attempt to go 
to school, nor did Miss Bayley expect them. 
Ken was very restless, and kept listening, as 
though he expected to hear some sound be- 


304 


DIXIE MARTIN 


sides the moaning and whistling of the wind. 
Too, he would stand for fifteen minutes at a 
time straining his eyes through the dusk, 
watching, watching up the trail. 

“Ken Martin, you act so queer!” Carol 
said at last. “Whatever are you looking out 
of the window for? You’ve seen the ground 
covered with snow lots of times before, 
haven’t you? Come on over here and help 
us tease Dixie to let us make some popcorn 
balls.” 

The boy turned reluctantly back into the 
room, and, at the suggestion of his older 
sister, he brought forth a few ears of corn, 
which the laughing “twins,” as they now 
called Sylvia and Carol, began to shell. 
Then he procured the old-fashioned, long- 
handled popper, and five minutes later he was 
shaking this over a bed of red coals in the 
stove. The little town girl, who had never 
seen corn popped, stood with an arm about 
her best friend, watching with great inter¬ 
est. The kernels were bursting merrily into 
downy white puffs when Ken suddenly 
stopped shaking and listened intently. There 


THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 305 


was a prolonged dismal whistle of the wind 
down the chimney. That was all the girls 
heard, but Ken was sure that he had heard 
something else. “Here, Dix,” he said, as he 
held the handle of the popper toward her, 
“you take this. I want to go outside and 
listen.” The oldest girl complied, and the 
lad, putting on his heavy cap and coat, and 
lighting his lantern, opened the door. A 
gust of cold w T ind and sleet swept into the 
kitchen. Carol and Sylvia sprang to push 
the door shut, and, as they did so, the wide 
flame in the kerosene lamp flickered as though 
it would go out, but a moment later it stead¬ 
ied and shone on the puzzled faces of the 
three little girls. 

“Dix,” Carol said, “brother’s been acting 
awfully queer of late, don’t you think so? He 
seems to be expecting somebody, and yet who 
in the world could it be? There’s nobody 
coming to visit us, is there?” 

The older sister smiled, Ken had thought 
best to take her into his confidence, since he 
had offered the loft to his friend. She had 
assured him that he had done the right thing, 


306 


DIXIE MARTIN 


but she did hope that Ken’s friend would not 
come until Sylvia had returned to Genoa. 
The little housekeeper didn’t know how they 
would all find places to sleep, but she remem¬ 
bered that Grandmother Piggins had often 
said, “Don’t step over a stile till you come 
to it.” 

The corn had been popped till it filled a big 
vellow bowl, but Ken had not returned. 
Dixie carried the lamp to the window nearest 
the canon trail. She was sure that she saw 
the lantern far off among the pine trees, but, 
as she watched, it disappeared. Then a sud¬ 
den blast of wind roaring past the cabin told 
her that the storm was again increasing in 
fury. Why didn’t Ken come in, she won¬ 
dered. Perhaps an uprooted tree had pinned 
him under. Perhaps she ought to go and find 
him. 

When she arrived a this decision, she placed 
the lamp on the table by the window and went 
quietly to the loft to get her heavy coat and 
hood. 

When Dixie ran out of the log cabin into 
the storm which was increasing in fury, she 


THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 30T 


was at first so blinded by the stinging snow 
that she could see nothing. Then, when she 
had pulled her hood down in a way that shel¬ 
tered her eyes, and had gathered the folds of 
her cloak tightly about her, she stood on the 
narrow path which Ken had shoveled a few 
hours before, and gazed through the dense 
blackness up toward the canon road. 

Again she saw a glimmer of light, as though 
it might be a lantern. Was Ken swinging 
it, hoping to attract her attention? 

Believing that she had guessed aright, the 
small girl began battling the elements, and 
slowly she ascended the trail that led to the 
road. Now and then she stumbled over cov¬ 
ered rocks, and at last reached the deep, un¬ 
broken snow, for Ken had not tried to shovel 
a path up the steep trail to the highway, and 
his own foot-prints had been hidden quickly 
by the storm. 

Luckily the dim light of the lantern ap¬ 
peared again, and the girl headed directly for 
it. During a lull, she was sure she heard her 
brother call. After all, she feared that her 
surmise, that a falling tree had pinned him 


308 


DIXIE MARTIN 


down, was correct, otherwise he surely would 
have returned to the cabin. It was at least 
half an hour since he had started out in 
search of he knew not what. 

She stood still once more and listened. 
Again she heard the sound, and this time she 
knew it was her brother hallooing. 

“Ken! Ken!” she shouted. “I’m coming! 
I’m ’most there!” 

Then, as she paused to listen, she was sure 
that she heard an answering cry, though it 
seemed faint and far. Breaking through a 
dense growth of dwarf pines, to her great joy 
she saw, in a circle of light from the lantern 
a short distance above her, the erect form of 
a boy, which proved to her that at least her 
brother was unhurt. But as she hastened for¬ 
ward, she saw him lean over something that 
looked like a log. The girl knew that it must 
be the figure of a man. “Oh, Ken,” she cried 
as soon as she was near enough to be heard, 
“who is it out in all this blizzard?” 

“It’s Mr. Edrington. He ’twas that was 
hallooing when I first heard a call. He had 
to leave camp, for his shelter blew away, and 


THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 309 


lie couldn’t make a fire, for the matches were 
all wet. He tried to find the easy trail down 
the mountain, but the snow had covered it. 
He missed the way and fell right over the 
cliff. He’s got grit all right, Mr. Edrington 
has! He sort of dragged himself here. 
When I came, though, he’d petered all out, 
but he told me that much before he—he—” 

The girl had knelt on the snow, and was 
listening to the man’s heart. “IPs only a 
faint he’s in,” she said, looking up at the lad. 
“If we rub his face and hands with snow, 
perhaps it will help him to come to.” 

“Dix, you’re a brick!” the boy exclaimed 
admiringly. Then hopefully they did as the 
girl had suggested, watching anxiously the 
pale face upon which the light of the lantern 
shone. The wind had subsided, as it did peri¬ 
odically, and there was a strange silence un¬ 
der the pine trees. Too, the moon appeared 
through a rift in the clouds, making a beau¬ 
tiful picture of the wide, glistening canon, 
while near by, the pine branches bent low 
under the weight of gleaming snow. 

To the great relief of the boy and girl the 




310 


DIXIE MARTIN 


young engineer slowly opened his eyes; then 
he looked about with a puzzled expression. 
Seeing Ken, he smiled. “I say, where am I, 
old man?” he asked. Turning, he saw Dixie, 
and he sat up as though startled. 

“It’s only my sister, Mr. Edrington,” Ken 
explained. “She’s grown a lot since you saw 
her last.” 

“Of course,” the young man laughed as he 
took the girl’s hand. “I must have been 
dreaming. I thought you were Marlita Ar¬ 
den. Oh, I remember now. I fell over the 
cliff, didn’t I? Wonder if any bones are 
broken. Give a lift, Ken, and I’ll soon find 
out. 

With the aid of the strong boy and girl, the 
stalwart young man stood on his feet, and 
was indeed pleased to find that he could walk 
without pain. 

However, he quickly put his hand to his 
head. 

“That’s where I hit when I landed, I guess,” 
he said, trying to speak lightly. He stag¬ 
gered as he walked, and was glad indeed when 
the cabin was reached and he found himself 


■") 



The young engineer slowly opened his eyes.— Page 310. 
























































































THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD 311 


lying on Ken’s bed in the small room adjoining 
the kitchen. 

Carol had put another stick on the fire and 
had filled the teakettle. Dixie praised her 
small sister for her thoughtfulness. How 
glad, glad, that little mother was when she 
realized that Carol was beginning to think 
of others. 

As the older girl prepared a hot beverage for 
their unexpected guest, she was wondering 
where her brother would sleep. Surmising 
this, the lad told her he’d fold a quilt and 
sleep on the floor near the stove. “Ira and 
I slept on the hard ground for a week when 
we were off wood-cutting for his dad,” he 
concluded. 

Dixie went to bed that night with a strange 
feeling—a premonition perhaps—that some¬ 
thing unusual was about to happen. Nor was 
she wrong. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 

* 

A HAPPY FATHER 

The next day dawned gloriously, but the 
snow was still too deep in the canon for the 
children to attend the morning session of 
the log-cabin school. 

“The snow-plow will be along soon, I sup¬ 
pose,” Carol said, as she peered up toward 
the highway. 

Sylvia, who stood at Carol’s side exclaimed: 
“Look! Look! There’s a shining w T hite cloud 
lying low. Did you suppose clouds ever came 
^o far down the mountain?” 

Carol gleefully clapped her hands. “It’s 
the plow going up the road this very minute,” 
she cried in joy. “It throws up the snow 
in clouds just like that.” Then she added: 
“I’ll tell my brother. He’ll want to finish 
shoveling our path now.” 

“Oh-ee! How I’d love to help shovel,” Syl- 

312 


A HAPPY FATHER 313 

via exclaimed. “Couldn't you and I help, 
Carol?" 

“Of course we could, and maybe it would 
be kind of fun! We haven’t been out of the 
house for ’most four days. I’ll ask Dixie.’’ 

The older girl thought the plan a splendid 
one, and she bundled up Jimmy-Boy, that he 
might accompany them. With the three chil¬ 
dren away from the cabin, Mr. Edrington 
might get the undisturbed sleep that he so 
needed to restore his strength. 

The younger girls climbed to the loft and 
put on their leggings, rubbers, and heavy 
coats and hoods; then, getting small shovels, 
they joined the boy who was already working 
with a will, his cheeks the color of the muffler 
that was tied about his neck. 

When they were far enough away from the 
cabin to shout, without being heard by the 
injured man, they paused now and then in 
their path-making to have a snowball battle, 
and, at last, when they had cleared the trail 
to the highway, the four children stood look¬ 
ing admiringly at the road that had been so 
recently smoothed by the snow-plow. 


314 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Suddenly Ken sang out, “Hark, what do 
I hear?” 

“Sleigh-bells, I do believe,” Carol cried. 

“Jingle! Jingle! Somebody’s coming. 
Let’s guess who.” Sylvia, her cheeks flushed, 
her eyes sparkling, watched the bend in the 
road expectantly. “I’ll guess it’s Mr. Pig- 
gins,” she concluded. 

“I’ll guess it’s—” Ken began, but before he 
could mention a name, a trim little cutter, 
drawn by a spry white horse, appeared. 

There was a cry of joy from one of the 
children. 

“It’s my dad! My dear, dear dad!” Leap¬ 
ing from the trail into the highway, Sylvia 
waved her red-mittened hand, laughing 
and shouting. The man in the rapidly- 
approaching sleigh looked at the small girl 
as though he could not think who she might be. 

Then with an expression of radiant glad¬ 
ness, he called “Whoa!” tossed the reins to 
Ken and held out his arms to catch the small 
figure that was flying toward him. 

“My Miggins!” the father’s voice was 
tender with emotion. “This can’t be you!” 


A HAPPY FATHER 


315 


He held her off at arm’s length to gaze at 
her with admiring eyes. 

The small girl laughed up at him happily, 
her eyes bright, her cheeks as rosy as Carol’s. 
Then again holding her close, he said softly: 
“Little girl, your mother is at home now, and 
she wants to see you. She has been asking 
every day since the storm set in if I wouldn’t 
go and get her baby for her.” Then he added 
anxiously: “Are you old enough, I wonder, 
to see the great change that there is in your 
mother, and not let her know? Our loved one 
is very frail yet, little daughter, but I believe, 
when you are with her, she will be more con¬ 
tent and will grow stronger again. We will 
try to help her, for she longs to get well, that 
she may enjoy the simple home life which, 
somehow, we have always missed.” Then, 
smiling down at the other three children, the 
genial banker called, “Pile in, all of you, and 
Fll give you a sleigh-ride.” 

Up they scrambled, stowing the shovels 
away as best they could. Then again the 
horse started, turning down the drive toward 
the cabin. How the sleigh-bells rang, and 


316 


DIXIE MARTIN 


liow the children shouted! Jimmy-Boy was 
most hilarious of all, and he wanted to keep 
on riding, even when Dixie appeared to lift 
him out and cany him into the warm kitchen. 
“I want more sleigh-ride,” the little fellow 
kept saying. Then Dixie had an inspiration. 
“Maybe big brother will be able to make a 
bob-sled, and maybe Pegasus will pull it, and 
then Jimmy can go riding.” 

“Will there be a ting-a-ling?” The small 
boy had been about to cry, but he waited to 
hear his big sister’s reply. Dixie hesitated. 
She never liked to promise anything that she 
could not grant. 

“What’s the matter with that little man?” 
the kind banker asked as he entered the 
kitchen. 

Jimmy-Boy, from his place on Dixie’s lap, 
hastened to tell him. “I want ting-a-ling to 
put on Pegthus.” 

Mr. Clayburn looked so truly mystified that 
Dixie had to explain that Pegasus was their 
burro, and that the little fellow wished they 
had a string of bells to put about his neck. 

“A splendid suggestion!” the genial man 


A HAPPY FATHER 


317 


exclaimed. “I was wondering what I could 
do with the old bells, now that I have bought 
a new harness. Pegasus shall have them. 
Come with me, little chap, and we’ll see how 
your burro likes them.” 

Ken acompanied them to the barn while 
Dixie went up to the loft where she found the 
two smaller girls busily packing the suit-case 
which Sylvia had brought with her. 

That little maid stood up, and, throwing 
her arms about Dixie’s neck, she said: “Oh, 
I just don’t know how to tell you what a nice 
time I’ve had. How I do hope that I can 
come again!” 

“Of course you’ll come again—lots and lots 
of times,” Dixie assured her. 

Ten minutes later they were all out on the 
porch. Mr. Clayburn took the hand of the 
oldest girl as he said earnestly, “Dixie, I 
shall never be able to repay you four little 
Martins for all that you have done for my 
small daughter, but promise that you will 
call on me if ever you need help in any way.” 

Dixie was glad to promise. Then, when 
the sleigh had been driven away, Ken said: 


318 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“I didn’t tell Mr. Clayburn the reason for 
Mr. Edrington’s being here. That’s his se¬ 
cret. He doesn’t want any one to know.” 

“Nobody shall know!” Dixie promised, but 
she was mistaken. 


CHAPTER FORTY 


A MYSTERY SOLVED 

Miss Bayley could not understand why the 
Martin children did not come to school that 
afternoon, for she had seen the snow-plow 
pass by and knew that the road was open. So 
anxious did she become that she dismissed 
the three pupils who were there, at two 
o’clock. Then, donning her warm wraps, she 
started walking down the highway toward the 
canon. 

The air was clear and sparkling. The 
girl-teacher felt as though she could run and 
shout, as the children did, but, fearing that 
she might shock Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly, she 
waited until she was on the downward trail 
and out of sight of the inn, then she flung her 
arms wide and sang a glad song of her 
childhood. 

“Oh, but it’s good to be alive!” she said 

319 


320 


DIXIE MARTIN 


as she turned into the narrow, well-shoveled 
trail leading to the cabin. Just then a breeze, 
on mischief bent, perhaps, tossed a heavily- 
laden pine bough above her head and a small 
avalanche of snow crashed down upon her. 
Laughingly, she shook herself as best she 
could. 

The snow had knocked her cherry-colored 
tarn awry, and had loosened her hair, which 
curled at the ends and clustered about her 
ears and on her neck. With cheeks flushed 
and eyes brimming with mirth, the girl- 
teacher tapped upon the door of the cabin. 
No one answered, and she pushed it open and 
found herself facing a strange young man 
who, wrapped well in blankets, sat in the big 
easy-chair close to the stove. How Frederick 
Edrington had longed to climb to the shelter 
of the loft when he had seen the unwelcome 
guest passing the window, but there had not 
been time. 

For one terrorized moment he had feared 
that, when the door opened, he would behold 
either his aunt or the dreaded Marlita Ar¬ 
den. It was with an audible sigh of relief 


A MYSTERY SOLVED 


321 


that he beheld the vision of his dreams. 

Miss Bayley was the more startled of the 
two. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as she backed 
toward the door again. “I—I didn’t know 
that the Martin children had company. I 
am so sorry—if—if I—” she hesitated. 

The young man was the first to recover his 
presence of mind. “You haven’t, Miss Bay- 
ley,” he said with the smile that won friends 
for him among rich or poor, young or old. “I 
assure you that you have done the very nicest 
thing that you possibly could have done. I’m 
mighty glad to see you again. I—” 

“Again?” The girl-teacher was indeed sur¬ 
prised, and at once began to search her mem¬ 
ory for the time of their former meeting. 
Surely she could not have forgotten the good- 
looking young man, who bronzed face, with its 
clear-cut features, plainly told that his life- 
work kept him out-of-doors. 

“Pardon me for not rising, Miss Bayley, 
and please do slip off your cloak and stay 
a while,” he begged. “Dixie and the others 
have gone to the Valley Ranch on an errand, 
but they will soon return.” 


322 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Then, as he saw the puzzled expression in 
her eyes, the young man answered her un¬ 
spoken querj 7 . “Miss Bayley, you have 
never met me before, but I have heard my lit¬ 
tle friends speak of you so often that I feel 
well acquainted with you.” 

Relieved, Josephine slipped off her fur- 
lined cloak and seated herself. For a mo¬ 
ment she sat looking thoughtfully out of the 
window toward a snow-covered range that 
formed the other side of the wide canon. 

“May I hear about it?” the young engineer 
asked. 

The girl smiled. “I was thinking of a 
queer old man who is camping up in the 
mountains, and wondering how he has 
weathered the storm.” 

“Oh, indeed!” Mr. Edrington sat up as 
though interested. “Is this—er—old man of 
whom you speak a particular friend of 
yours?” 

The girl nodded, then laughed. “Well, at 
least I do feel friendly toward him because he 
likes books. He has had two of mine, one 
on snakes and the other a history.” 


A MYSTERY SOLVED 


323 


Then, turning she asked a direct question: 
“Won’t you tell me your name? It’s hard to 
talk to a person and not call him anything.” 

The young engineer flushed. “I say, Miss 
Ba y le y>” he apologized, “you’ll think I’m a 
regular boor, won’t you? I—er—my name 
is—Rattlesnake Sam.” 

The girl’s amused laughter rang out, and 
though the listener was relieved, he was cer¬ 
tainly puzzled. 

“I was sure of it!” she said triumphantly. 
“You see what an excellent detective I am.” 

“But, I say, Miss Bayley, this isn’t very 
complimentary. I do know that I need shav¬ 
ing, but Ken led me to believe that you 
thought Rattlesnake Sam was an old, dry-as- 
dust professor, a sort of ‘fossil,’ and I—er—” 
Then the young engineer laughed in his 
hearty, boyish way. “Honestly, Miss Bayley, 
I didn’t suppose I looked quite that old and 
fogyish.” Then the query: “Do I?” 

The girl shook her head, but her eyes still 
twinkled. “No-o!” she confessed almost re- 
lucantly, “and I’m dreadfully disappointed in 
you. I was actually looking forward to meet- 


324 


DIXIE MARTIN 


ing the snake professor who looked like—well, 
like Thoreau or Burroughs, as I fancied, and 
now—” Pausing, the girl tilted her head 
sideways and gazed at him critically and yet 
merrily. 

His good-looking bronzed face was expres¬ 
sive as he watched her, and his eyes were tell¬ 
ing how much he admired her. He wondered 
what she would say. 

“I believe I am disappointed in you,” the 
girl declared, and yet in a tone that did not 
quite carry conviction. “You’re much to 
modern to be real interesting.” 

The young man looked disconsolate. 
“Alas!” said he. “Fate seems to be against 
me.” He glanced up hopefully. “I might 
grow a very long beard, Miss Bayley, if that 
would help to make me less modern and more 
interesting.” Then, as she only laughed her 
reply, the young engineer continued. “But 
you haven’t told me what clues you possessed 
that led you to discover my supposed well- 
hidden identity.” 

Josephine looked at him searchingly. “Can 
men keep a secret?” she inquired. 



A MYSTERY SOLVED 


325 


“Much better than boys can, or so I’m be¬ 
ginning to think/’ was the reply. 

“No, you are wrong/’ Miss Bayley defended. 
“Ken didn’t really tell. In fact, he doesn’t 
know that he told at all. As I look back now 
upon our conversations concerning the old 
man in the mountains, I realize that Ken did 
his very best to keep your secret, but he said 
such strange things sometimes. He hasn’t 
told,—not one word,—but one day when I 
offered him a penny for his thoughts, he said 
he was wishing somebody would get married, 
and he seemed so doleful about it that my 
curiosity was aroused. 

“Then, when I told him that I thought he 
was rather young to be a match-maker, he con¬ 
fessed that what he was really wishing was 
that there would be a blizzard, so that his 
friend Rattlesnake Sam would have to leave 
the mountains and come down and stay at 
their cabin. 

“Well, the storm did come and so, too, did 
you. Wasn’t the inference a natural one?” 

The young man nodded. “It wouldn’t take 
a Sherlock Holmes to unravel that mystery,” 


326 


DIXIE MARTIN 


he began, and then paused, for he was sure 
the little ripple of laughter that he heard w r as 
prefacing a merry remark. Nor was he wrong, 
for Josephine continued : “There is one part, 
however, that I cannot understand. Whom 
do you suppose Ken wants to have married? 
If he hadn’t mentioned it right in the very 
same breath with the blizzard, I wouldn’t be 
so curious.” 

“Your curiosity is quite natural, Miss Bay- 
ley, and it’s going to be completely satisfied,” 
the young man said seriously. “I may need 
your help almost any day now, and so you, 
too, may share the secret with Dixie and 
Ken.” Then he told the whole story, begin- 
ing with the making of the mountain road, 
two years previous, and ending with his re¬ 
cent flight from the South and his reason for 
hiding. 

To his surprise, his listener exclaimed: 
“Mr. Edrington, you are indeed to be con¬ 
gratulated upon your narrow escape. If you 
know Marlita Arden as w T ell as I do, you are 
then aware that what she needs most is vari¬ 
ety and admiration. I doubt if she would be 


A MYSTERY SOLVED 


327 


the comrade sort of wife that I believe yon 
would want.” Then, more seriously, “I do 
not dislike Marlita, understand, but I would 
be sorry to have my brother Tim marry her.” 

The girl knew, by the listener’s expression 
that she was amazing him. Nor was she 
wrong. Marlita Arden was a snob. She 
would not speak civilly to a woman who 
earned her own living, and yet this young 
school-teacher spoke as though she knew the 
Southern heiress well. 

He could not ask how well, and no further 
information was volunteered. Miss Bayley 
had risen and was donning her cloak. “I 
must be going,” she said, smiling at him, 
“for the dusk comes early these winter days.” 

The young man implored, “Miss Bayley, 
won’t you come often? Have pity on a poor 
old fossil who’s a shut-in.” 

“Perhaps! Good-by.” The teacher looked 
radiantly young and beautiful as she paused 
in the open door and smiled back at him. 

“She’s a princess of a girl,” he thought; 
then he recalled his decision to never fall in 
love, and he tried to harden his heart. 


CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 


A RESOLUTION BROKEN 

A never-to-be-forgotten winter followed 
that first blizzard. Never to be forgotten, at 
least, by the girl-teacher of the Woodford’s 
Canon log-cabin school, by the young civil 
engineer, or by Dixie and Ken Martin. The 
other children were almost too young to know 
how portentous those months were. 

After the storm there was a spell of clear, 
cold weather, when the snow-covered valley 
and mountains sparkled in the pale sunshine, 
inviting frolic. 

For a time Mr. Edrington remained in the 
cabin, climbing hastily to the loft if sleigh- 
bells were heard without, but, as the days 
passed and the wrathful aunt, from whom he 
was hiding that he need not marry the girl of 
her choice, did not appear, he became more 

328 


A RESOLUTION BROKEN 


329 


daring and ventured forth in the full light of 
day. 

He it was who made, with Ken’s help, a 
wonderful slide down a steep trail which 
ended at the frozen stream in the valley. 
Then a marvelous toboggan was constructed, 
one long and strong enough to take them all 
on a wild ride from the highway to the valley- 
bottom. r 

The young engineer sat in front to steer, 
and Jimmy-Boy sat just behind and clung to 
him, and then came, Dixie and Carol, Ken and 
Miss Bay ley. 

Once, just for mischief, Mr. Edrington 
steered into a drift, and they were all half- 
buried, but they took the ducking good- 
naturedly. 

The young engineer also spent long hours 
reading in the cabin of his good friend, 
Josephine Bayley. One of the Martin chil¬ 
dren accompanied him on these occasions, 
usually Dixie, who was old enough to enjoy 
the books that her two older friends liked to 
read aloud to each other. 

While school was in session the young en- 


330 


DIXIE MARTIN 


gineer was not idle, for he had with him his 
instruments, and many a chart he made as 
he studied the way to bridge chasms or to 
tunnel mountains. 

February the first was Dixie’s birthday. 
Knowing that her sister and brother could not 
give her presents, that thoughtful little 
mother did not remind them of the coming 
event, and, childlike, they had quite forgot¬ 
ten, for all winter days seemed alike to them. 
But there was one who had not forgotten, 
and that one was Miss Bayley. She took 
Frederick Edrington into her confidence, and 
a surprise-party was planned and carried 
out. 

The girl-teacher’s present to her favorite 
pupil was in a box, the shape of which aroused 
much curiosity, but when Dixie saw the gift 
it contained, her plain face was transfigured. 

“Why, that girl is beautiful!” the young en¬ 
gineer said softly to the teacher who stood at 
his side, watching while the slender maid 
lifted a bow and violin. 

“Miss Bayley!” How starlike were the 
eyes that turned toward the beloved friend 


A RESOLUTION BROKEN 


331 


and benefactress. “Do you really think that 
some day I shall be able to play?” 

There was conviction in the tone of the 
young woman as she said, “I know it!” 
“Some day we shall all listen in rapture, Ell 
prophesy, and then we’ll say proudly, one to 
another, ‘That is our Dixie.’ ” 

Going to the girl, Miss Bayley kissed her. 
“May I take your violin, dear? I studied 
several musical instruments in school, but 
cannot play any of them well.” 

Taking the violin and adjusting it, she 
played a sweet, simple melody, then explained 
to the girl, who listened with rapt eagerness, 
a few of the things that a beginner should 
know. “Suppose you try to play.” The 
young teacher smiled at the maid, little dream¬ 
ing that she would comply, but Dixie did not 
hesitate. She lifted the violin, and, after 
listening to the strings for a moment, she be¬ 
gan to play the same melody that Miss Bay- 
ley had but finished. It was imperfectly 
done, but the young teacher knew that she 
had been right in believing that the girl was 
rarely talented. 


332 


DIXIE MARTIN 


“I will teach yon all that I know, which 
isn’t much,” Miss Bayley said. “Then, when 
the snow is gone and spring has come, you 
shall have lessons from some one who is a real 
musician.” 

Dixie’s cup of happiness seemed full those 
wintry days, for Carol grew in gentleness and 
unselfishness, and was ever more loved and 
more lovable. 

“How pleased our father would be!” Dixie 
said that night as she and Ken were alone in 
the kitchen after the party. Mr. Edrington 
had gone with Miss Bayley, to escort her home 
up the canon trail, and the younger children 
were asleep. “Pleased, because we have two 
such wonderful friends. Three,” the girl 
added brightly, “for surely Mr. Clayburn has 
been a true friend.” 

“We have managed to get along quite nicely 
without our aunt,” the boy said as he wound 
the old grandfather’s clock. “I’m just as well 
pleased that she never did look us up. I’m 
almost sure we shouldn’t like her.” 

“I don’t believe she knows that we even 
exist,” Dixie declared. “Since she never 


A RESOLUTION BROKEN 


333 


opened any of the letters that were sent to 
her, how could she know?” 

“That’s right,” Ken agreed. “I wonder 
what set me to thinking about her? Well, I 
won’t waste any more thought on her. Good¬ 
night, Dix.” 

The girl had started to ascend the ladder 
to the loft where she slept, but she turned 
back and kissed the lad as she said: “Ken, 
you’ve been a wonderful brother. On birth¬ 
days one thinks of those things. Good-night.” 

The moon arose above old Piney Peak as 
Miss Bayley and Mr. Edrington left the shel¬ 
tered canon trail and turned into the highway. 

“I’m going to put out the light in the lan¬ 
tern,” the young man said. “We don’t need 
it now, do we?” he smilingly asked after hav¬ 
ing blown out the flickering flame. 

“Where has it gone,” she asked, “the light 
that was there but a moment ago?” 

The young man shook his head. “I can’t 
tell you,” he declared; “and, Josephine, please 
don’t ask me to think about abstract things 
just now. I want to tell you something.” 

The young engineer spoke seriously, almost 


r 


334 


DIXIE MARTIN 


pleadingly. He did not seem to realize that 
he had called his companion by her first name, 
but Miss Bayley knew it, and she was glad 
to have him. What had he to tell her? How 

i 

she hoped—but—even to herself, she would 
not admit that desire. 

For a few moments they walked on in si¬ 
lence. The road was slippery. He held her 
arm, but still said nothing. At last Miss 
Bayley peered into his face, trying to get him 
to lift his eyes from the ground. “I’ll not 
say ‘A penny for your thoughts/ that is too 
trite,” she began, “but I do feel sort of left 
out and lonely. I’m just sure you are trying 
to figure out how to tunnel through Old Piney 
and make your walk home with me a quarter 
of a mile shorter.” 

He looked up then, his fine eyes laughing, 
but in them there was an expression which as¬ 
sured the girl that he had not been thinking of 
tunnels, but of her. Taking her warmly- 
gloved hand, he said, “ Lady of the Sunrise 
Peak, I’m going away.” 

She stopped, and her eyes told her surprised 
disappointment. 


A RESOLUTION BROKEN 


335 


“Oh, Mr. Edrington, why? May I ask? I 
thought you were going to stay here 
until spring or until you had heard that 
Marlita Arden had married.” She paused 
questioningly. 

“I did intend to, but Fm running away from 
—something else—myself,” he hastened to 
add. “You see, Miss Bayley, I once made a 
resolution, and if I stay here Fm afraid Fll 
break it.” 

“Indeed? May I know what the resolution 
was?” They had reached the small cabin be¬ 
yond the inn, and the girl-teacher paused on 
the doorstep waiting. What could he say? 
The liquid-brown eyes that were so expres¬ 
sive were searching his. She knew his an¬ 
swer before it was given. 

“I have fallen in love, and I vowed I never 
would,” he said quietly. 

“And is that why you are going away?” she 
inquired. 

“No—o,” he confessed. “It isn’t. I’m go¬ 
ing away for one month, Josephine. Not be¬ 
cause I want to test my love for you,—I’m sure 
of that,—but I want you to have time to 



336 


DIXIE MARTIN 


think—and to be sure.” Then he added, “Am 
I presuming too much when I infer that per¬ 
haps you would want to consider caring for 
me?” 

The girl-teacher answered frankly. “Until 
to-night I have thought of you merely as a 
comrade, a pal whom I enjoy more than I 
ever did any one else. But perhaps you are 
right. If you go away, we can tell better 
whether it is merely propinquity or love. 
Good-night.” 

Frederick Edrington walked slowly back to 
the cabin, which was dark except for a dim 
light burning in the room that he now shared 
with Ken. 

He would go to Colorado and inspect some 
work that was going on there, he decided. 
He had promised to send in a report of it be¬ 
fore spring, and this would afford him that 
opportunity. 

The little Martins were surprised and sorry 
to hear that their guest was leaving them. 
“I’ll be back in the spring,” he told them. 

“That’s only a month away,” Dixie replied 
at the hour of parting. 


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 


AN EVENTFUL SPRING 

Spring came, and every mountain canon 
held a rushing torrent. The sky was glori¬ 
ously blue after the long months that it had 
been leaden-gray, and flowers began to appear 
in the crevices soon after the snow was gone. 

Joy in the heart of the j r oung school-teacher 
sang with the returning birds. Even the 
small Martin children seemed to be eagerly 
expectant. 

“I feel as though something ever so nice is 
going to happen, Miss Bayley, don’t you?” 
Dixie looked up glowingly from the slate on 
which she was trying to solve a difficult sum. 

Her beloved friend and teacher stood at her 
side. These two had remained after school, 
that the older Martin girl might catch up with 
Ken in mathematics. 

“I’d heaps rather write rhymes or sing 

337 


338 


DIXIE MARTIN 


songs or play on my violin,” Dixie confided 
when at last the slate had been washed clean 
and replaced in the desk. 

“Pm glad,” Miss Bayley said as she pinned 
on her hat, preparing to depart. “You will 
derive much more joy from the poetry and the 
music, but arithmetic, too, must be mastered, 
if you are to go to college.” 

The girl looked brightly up at her teacher. 
“I’d have to be living in a fairy-tale to have 
that happen,” she declared. Then laugh¬ 
ingly she confessed, “There are only six pen¬ 
nies in the sock under my mattress, and you 
can't think how hard I have tried to save all 
winter. However, I might call them a nest- 
egg toward the future education of the four 
Martins.” 

The gold-brown eyes of the girl glowed from 
beneath the wide brim of her rather shabby 
hat, but the young teacher saw not the hat 
but only the radiant young face. 

“Dixie,” she exclaimed suddenly, “this is 
the hour that the stage arrives. Let’s walk 
down the canon road a little way and see if it 
is coming. Shall we?” 


AN EVENTFUL SPRING 


339 


“I*d love to!” was the glad reply. “And 
maybe weTl find some wild flowers.” Then, 
when they had started swinging along to¬ 
gether, the younger girl asked, looking up at 
her taller companion, “Miss Bayley, are you 
expecting some one in particular to come 
to-day?” 

The rosy flush in the teacher’s face puzzled 
Dixie. She had not thought that a romance 
might exist between Ken’s old friend and the 
young woman whom she so loved. 

“No, dear, no one in particular,” was the 
quiet reply, and it was true, for although 
Miss Bayley^had received a letter stating that 
Frederick Edrington would soon be through 
with his work of inspection, he had not said 
when he would revisit the canon. 

They had reached a high point, and Dixie 
had clambered up on a peak of rocks, that 
she might have a wider vision. Shading her 
eyes from the glare of the sun, she looked 
down into the valley. 

“Surely there is something coming,” she 
called gleefully to the waiting teacher. “I 
can see it moving among the pine trees.” 


340 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Then, clapping her hands, she added joyfully: 
“It is the stage! It’s out in the clearing, and 
now it’s beginning to climb. I do believe it 
will pass here in half an hour or so.” 

Miss Bayley pressed her hand on her heart 
to try to still its rapid beating. “I can’t un¬ 
derstand it at all,” she thought, “but I seem 
to feel sure that some one is coming on the 
stage, some one whom I shall be glad to see.” 
Never before had a half hour seemed so long 
to the two who spent the time searching for 
flowers among the rocks. Only a few, blue as 
the sky, had been found, when Dixie stood 
suddenly alert, listening. “Hear that rum¬ 
ble?” she sang out. “It’s the stage just around 
Old Indian Rock.” She pointed to an out- 
jutting boulder below them at the turn in 
the canon road. Breathlessly they waited. 
There were four passengers in the coach, and 
one was an elderly woman, who, handsomely 
dressed, sat very erect, and the expression on 
her proud, aristocratic face assured the two 
by the roadside that, whoever she might be, 
the errand that had brought her to the moun¬ 
tains was most displeasing to her. 


AN EVENTFUL SPRING 


341 


The elderly stage-driver waved the hand 
that held the whip, and beamed down good- 
naturedly. The young teacher and Dixie 
smiled and nodded, but although the occu¬ 
pants of the coach must have seen them, they 
were not at all interested. 

The girl heard Miss Bayley sigh. “Dear 
teacher/’ she said softly, “won’t you come on 
down to our cabin for supper? There is to 
be cottage cheese that you like so much, with 
nice yellow cream on it.” 

Dixie was convinced that her companion 
had been expecting some one who had not 
come. 

Josephine Bayley laughed merrily. “You 
dear little tempter,” she said, “of course I’ll 
go.” And so hand in hand they descended 
the trail that led under the great old pines 
and down to the picturesque log cabin. 

Although it was but five o’clock, the little 
mother at once began to prepare the evening 
meal. Ken and Jimmy-Bov were out milking 
the goat, and Carol was over at the Valley 
Ranch. 

“May I set the table?” the teacher inquired. 


342 


DIXIE MARTIN 


Dixie nodded. “Let’s use the kept-for- 
company dishes to-night,” she suggested. 

“But you promised long ago that you 
wouldn’t call me company,” Miss Bayley 
protested. 

“I know I did,” Dixie smiled over the big 
yellow bowl which held the foamy cheese, and 
into which she was pouring rich cream. “I 
don’t understand the least bit why, but some¬ 
how I feel as if to-day were an extra occasion, 
sort of a party.” 

“Perhaps because it’s the first real spring 
day that we’ve had,” Miss Bayley announced, 
as she opened the old walnut sideboard and 
brought forth the best china. “Your mother 
liked beautiful things, didn’t she, Dixie? 
This pattern is lovely.” 

The girl looked up brightly. “I like it,” 
she replied; then added simply, “I suppose it 
was hard for Mother to live in a cabin, for all 
her life had been spent in an old colonial 
mansion in the South. Our great-aunt, Mrs. 
James Haddington-Alien, lives there, or, at 
least, I guess she does. She's never answered 


AN EVENTFUL SPEING 


343 


any of our letters, but she always writes 
something on the envelopes before she returns 
them, so of course she does receive them.” 

“Have you written to her lately?” Miss 
Bayley was setting the table as she asked the 
question. She was surprised at the decided 
tone in which the small girl replied: “No, I 
haven’t. I never wrote her but once, and that 
was after we children were left all alone. 
Our mother had often written, but her letters 
were always returned unopened.” 

“Mrs. James Haddington-Alien must be a 
hard-hearted old dragoness,” the girl-teacher 
thought; but aloud she commented, “If your 
great-aunt could but see you four children, 
I am sure she would love you all.” 

“She might love Carol because she is beau¬ 
tiful, like our mother, and she’d like Jimmy- 
Boy too, but Ken and I are regular Martins, 
so probably our great-aunt wouldn’t like 
us much.” To the surprise of the listener, 
there was a sob in the girl’s voice as she con¬ 
tinued, “I’d heaps rather our great-aunt 
would never come, for probably she’d want to 


344 


DIXIE MARTIN 


take Carol and Jimmy-Boy to her fine South¬ 
ern home, but she wouldn’t want Ken or me. 
I—I just couldn’t live without Carol and 
Jimmy-Boy. I couldn’t. I couldn’t!” 

Miss Bayley went toward the girl and took 
her in her arms. “My dear child,” she said 
tenderly, “before I’d let that happen, I would 
open up my old home in New York on the 
Hudson and adopt all four of you.” 

Dixie smiled through her tears. “Good¬ 
ness!” she said, springing away and wiping 

i 

her eyes on the towel by the kitchen pump, 
“the cheese is salty enough as ’tis. I mustn’t 
spill any tears in it.” 

Dixie had not grasped the meaning of the 
words she had heard. To her, Miss Bayley 
was just a poor young woman who had to 
teach school for a living, and a home in New 
York on the Hudson presented no picture to 
the girl who had always lived in the moun¬ 
tains, and who had never been farther away 
than Genoa. But to Miss Bayley those words 
had meant much. Why had she never 
thought of it before, she wondered. If Fred- 


AN EVENTFUL SPRING 


345 


erick Edrington never came back to her, if lie 
had found, while away from her, that he had 
been mistaken, that he did not really care, 
still her life need not be empty. 

She would go back to New York and take 
these four children with her. The great old 
salon that had been in darkness since the 
death of her parents would ring once again 
with laughter and song. Then when her 
brother Tim came back from his three years 
at sea, there would be a happy home waiting 
for him. The picture delighted the girl- 
teacher, and she began to sing as she placed 
the supper dishes on the best table-cloth. 

Carol came in, bringing a bunch of early 
flowers from a sunny, sheltered garden on the 
Valley Ranch. 

“Oh, how pretty!” Miss Bayley exclaimed. 
“They are just what we need for the middle 
of the table.” 

The younger girl looked mystified. “Is 
there going to be a party? Is somebody 
extra coming?” 

“No, dear, just we five,” Miss Bayley began, 


346 


DIXIE MARTIN 


but the small girl interrupted with, “But, 
teacher, you’ve put out six plates and 
everything,” 

“So I have!” The girl-teacher actually 
blushed. But before she could explain, even 
to herself, why she had done this, Dixie called 
excitedly, “Carol, skip to the door and see 
who’s coming. Ken’s waving his cap and 
shouting to some one coming down the canon 
trail.” 


I 


CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 

THE UNEXPECTED GUEST 

Dixie, a mixing-spoon in her hand, and 
Carol, still holding the flowers, darted to the 
open door and peered up the trail that led 
toward the highway. 

Ken had placed the pail of milk on the 
ground and was racing toward the newcomer, 
shouting his joy. Jimmy, not to be outdone, 
was hopping up and down, uttering shrill 
cries of glee, though he had not the least idea 
who might be coming. 

Miss Bayley stood by the table, her hand 

pressed to her heart. All day there had been 

within her a prophetic feeling of some joy in 

store for her. She listened breathlessly until 

she heard the name that Dixie announced. 

“IPs Mr. Edrington, as sure as anything!” 

she called in delight. Although the young 

347 


348 


DIXIE MARTIN 


engineer was Ken’s particular friend, the 
other three Martins loved him dearly. 

The young man threw his knapsack to the 
ground and held out both arms to receive all 
four of them. Even Dixie, unconscious of 
the mixing-spoon that she held, ran down the 
trail to meet him. The young teacher alone 
stayed within the cabin. 

“Oh-ee, Uncle Ed, but we’re glad you’ve 
come home,” Carol said. That was the name 
the young man had suggested that they call 
him. 

“Home,” he thought. “What a wonderful 
word that is!” He had never really had a 
home, for, although his aunt had seemed to 
care for him, she had been too nervous to have 
children around, and so he had been sent to a 
military academy, and from then, until he 
became a full-fledged engineer, nine months 
of every year he had been in a school of some 
sort, and even the three months of vacation 
had been spent in hotels at fashionable re¬ 
sorts. This log cabin in the Nevada moun¬ 
tains had been more of a home than he had 
ever before known. 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST 349 


“Where’s Miss Bayley?” Carol asked, look¬ 
ing back at the open door in surprise. “Why 
didn’t she come out?” 

The girl-teacher heard. She couldn’t have 
explained to herself why she had remained in 
hiding when she so longed to greet her good 
friend. 

“Here I am,” she called gayly, appearing at 
that moment on the porch. With a glad ex¬ 
clamation the young engineer leaped forward, 
both hands outstretched. “Josephine,” he 
said in a low voice, “have you decided? Did 
you miss me?” 

Miss Bayley had become mistress of her 
emotions. “Of course we all missed you,” she 
said, looking frankly into the line, gray eyes 
that told her so much. Then she added, turn¬ 
ing to the older Martin girl, “Dear, hadn’t we 
better have supper now?” Then, to the 
younger, “You see, Carol, I did well to set out 
a sixth plate.” 

The young man smiled as he followed the 
young woman indoors, and began to wash at 
the kitchen pump, as he had been wont to 
do in the days when he was one of the family, 


350 


DIXIE MARTIN 


for, try as she might to appear indifferent, 
Josephine Bayley’s manner and expression 
had assured him that his love was returned. 

Such a merry supper followed. Mr. Ed- 
rington had many an adventure to relate. 
He had met interesting and queer characters 
in the Rockies, where he had been inspecting 
the putting-through of a tunnel. 

The meal was half over when Dixie sud¬ 
denly thought of something. “Mr. Edring- 

% 

ton,” she exclaimed, “there was a very 
fine-looking old lady on the stage-coach to¬ 
night. I forgot to mention it. Your coming 
sort of drove all my other thoughts away. 
Do you think that maybe it might be your 
aunt?” 

To the surprise of the two older Martin 
children, the young man beamed happily upon 
them. “I hope it is!” he declared. Then, 
reaching out his strong brown hand, he placed 
it on the slender white one that was lying on 
the table near him. “If it is my aunt, then 
without delay I shall be able to introduce to 
her my future wife, Josephine Bayley.” 

Children take wonderful things quite as a 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST 351 


matter of course. Why not, since they can 
believe in fairies? 

“Oh! Oh! I am so glad! Then we can 
call our dear teacher Aunt Josephine, can’t 
we?” eagerly asked glowing-eyed Dixie. 

That night as the young couple walked up 
the canon road together, Frederick Edring- 
ton for the first time told of the fortune that 
his father had left him. 

“I am glad that I have it, for your sake,” 
he said to the girl at his side, “for it will 
enable me to give you many luxuries. What¬ 
ever things you have desired through the 
years, now you shall have.” 

“Thank you Frederick,” the girl replied, 
realizing fully for the first time that her 
fiance believed her to be a poor young person 
who had to work for a living. As they passed 
the inn, they could look into the brightly- 
lighted parlor. There they saw several peo¬ 
ple, but only one was near enough to the 
window to be recognized. 

“It is my aunt,” the young man said, “and 
I suspect that Marlita Arden is with her.” 

At the doorstep of the cabin they paused. 


352 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The young man held out his hand. “Jo¬ 
sephine,” he said, “will you go with me in 
the morning to the inn, that I may introduce 
to my aunt and her friends the sweetest little 
woman in the world, who is soon to be my 
wife?” 

The girl-teacher could not have told why 
she replied, “But, Frederick, your aunt will 
be so disappointed because you are to marry 
some one who does not belong to her world, 
some one who is obscure and—” 

Earnestly the young man interrupted: “It 
is for me to say what manner of maid I shall 
marry; but, dear, if you would rather not 
go,—if it will place you in an unpleasant po¬ 
sition,—I will not ask you to accompany me. 
I will go alone.” 

The girl looked up at him radiantly, and 
there was an amused expression in her lovely 
eyes that he could not understand. 

“I shall be glad to go, Frederick,” she said. 
‘Til be ready early. Good-night.” 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 

While Josephine Bayley prepared her 
breakfast the next morning, every now and 
then she paused to laugh gleefully. Was she 
doing wrong to deceive the fine man who loved 
her so dearly? And yet, after all, she had not 
deceived him. He had never once asked her 
who her father had been. He had merely 
jumped to the conclusion that she was poor 
because she was teaching school in Wood¬ 
ford’s Canon. After all, that was a natural 
inference. 

He had completely forgotten, or so it 
seemed, that on the first day of their ac¬ 
quaintance Josephine had mentioned that she 
had known Marlita Arden. The truth was 
that Frederick had not forgotten. He had, 
however, satisfied his own curiosity as to the 

manner in which the two girls had met. Mar- 

353 


354 


DIXIE MARTIN 


lita had a younger sister, Gladys Louise, and, 
as he thought of her, he recalled that she had 
a governess named Josephine. He had never 
seen her, but since his Josephine knew Mar- 
lita intimately, she probably had lived in their 
home as governess to the younger Arden girl. 

As the young engineer walked toward the 
cabin beyond the inn at nine that morning, 
with each stride his decision grew stronger. 
His aunt, he knew, would scorn any girl who 
earned her own living, but she would be es¬ 
pecially rude, he was convinced, to a young 
woman who had been governess in the home 
of one of her friends. 

After all, perhaps it would be kinder not to 
take Josephine Bayley with him when he 
went to see his aunt at the inn. He could an¬ 
nounce his intention to marry whom he would, 
and let the matter rest there, but, to his sur¬ 
prise, when he told the girl he loved that he 
wished to spare her possible humiliation, she 
looked so truly disappointed that he ex¬ 
claimed : “Why, Josephine, you don’t want 
to go, do you? I thought you were merely ac- 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 355 


companying me because I had requested it.” 

She smiled at him, and in her expression 
there was no trace of timidity. “Pm not the 
least bit afraid of dragoness aunts,” she as¬ 
sured him. Then she added, “If youTl be 
seated a moment, I’ll don my best spring hat 
and coat.” 

Five minutes later the girl emerged from 
her porch room, and the young man leaped to 
his feet, gazing as though at a vision. 

“How beautiful you are in that silvery 
gray,” he said. 

The small hat was wreathed with crushed 
roses, and the cloak, of soft clinging ma¬ 
terial, was cut in the latest fashion. 

At another time the young man might have 
been puzzled, but his mind was too full of one 
thing just then to admit of questionings. 

“I’m glad you look so nicely,” he confided 
as they started out, “for even though mine 
aunt will, of course, spurn me for not wedding 
the girl of her choice, in her heart of hearts 
she will have to agree that I have chosen the 
more beautiful one for my bride.” 


356 


DIXIE MARTIN 


The color in Josephine’s cheeks deepened, 
although it may have been a reflection of the 
rose-tulle lining of her hat. 

In the meantime the strangers at the inn 
had inquired if Frederick Edrington were 
staying there. 

Although Mr. Enterprise Twiggly well 
knew the young man whom Ken called Uncle 
Ed, he did not associate the two names, and 
replied that he knew “no such person.” 

Mrs. Edrington and her companions were in 
the parlor of the inn, awaiting the coming of 
the stage, when the two young people arrived. 
Josephine requested that she be permitted to 
remain in the outer office while Frederick 
went alone to meet his aunt. 

The four occupants of the plainly furnished 
room turned as the door opened, and the 
young engineer was somewhat surprised to see 
that one of them was no other than Lord 
Dunsbury. The two girls were Marlita Ar¬ 
den and her younger sister, Gladys Louise. 
Frederick regretted this, since his Josephine 
undoubtedly had been her governess. Per¬ 
haps the girl he loved ought to be told to slip 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 357 


back to her cabin home, that she might escape 
whatever humiliation would be in store for 
her, were she to meet the snobbish Ardens. 

“Pm so glad to see you again,” said 
Marlita. 

“More than pleased I assure you,” rather 
coldly added the young Englishman. 

Frederick crossed the room to where his 
aunt was standing, and spoke with her for 
several moments. The others, watching, 
could see the angry flush mounting to the 
face of the older woman. Then, unable to 
listen longer in silence, she turned toward the 
curious group and exclaimed: “My nephew 
informs me that he is engaged to marry some 
girl he has met here in the mountains. A 

woodcutter’s daughter, I suppose. Being 

\ 

well acquainted with his stubbornness, I 
know that he will do as he wishes in the 
matter.” 

Marlita shrugged her silk-clad shoulders as 
she said, “Do you know, Aunt Delia, I 
really would like to see the mountain maid 
who has won the heart of friend Frederick.” 
Then, turning to the young man, she added 


358 


DIXIE MARTIN 


with a tantalizing smile, “However, I doubt if 
he would care to exhibit his rural fiancee.” 
This remark had the effect desired. 

“You are wrong Marlita,” Frederick de¬ 
clared vehemently. “I should be proud to 
present my future wife to the queen of Eng¬ 
land, were that possible. If you will be 
seated, I will soon return with the young 
woman about whom we are speaking.” 

It was a tense moment for the two who 
were most interested. The aunt moved to 
the window and looked out. Marlita leaned 
against the mantle, tapping her fingers nerv¬ 
ously thereon. 

It was not very complimentary to her that 
Frederick Edrington should prefer a moun¬ 
taineer’s daughter to the heiress of Colonel 
Arden’s millions. 

They all glanced toward the closed door 
when they heard Frederick returning. 
Gladys Louise was the only one pleased with 
the little drama that was being enacted. 
How she did hope that Fred’s fiancee would 
prove to be the picturesque type of mountain 
maid that she had read about in romantic 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 359 


stories! Perhaps, though, they were only to 
be found in Switzerland. 

However, there was no further time for 
speculating. The door was opening, and in 
another moment they would know. 

Josephine Bayley had never looked lovelier 
than she did when she entered the parlor of 
the inn, her head held high. Although her 
lips were not smiling, surely an amused ex¬ 
pression was lurking in the depths of her clear 
hazel eyes. 

Before Frederick Edrington could intro¬ 
duce his fiancee to his aunt, Gladys Louise, 
with a glad cry of recognition, leaped for¬ 
ward, both hands outstretched. “Oh, you 
dear, darling Josephine!” she exclaimed. 
“Why didn’t you tell us where you dis¬ 
appeared to when you left so suddenly?” 

And so the young engineer’s surmise had 
been correct. His fiancee had been this im¬ 
pulsive girl’s governess. What would his 
aunt say? He glanced at Marlita, to see how 
she would welcome one who had lived in her 
home in a paid capacity. The proud girl's 
expression was hard to understand. 


360 


DIXIE MAETIN 


Then, to his surprise, Josephine made the 
first advance. Crossing the room, she held 
out her hand as she said: “Marlita, dear, 
please try to be glad for my happiness. You 
and I were room-mates at boarding-school, 
and now—” 

She said no more, for the girl to whom she 
had spoken drew herself away coldly. “You 
are not honest, Josephine Bay ley,” she said, 
“posing as a woodcutter’s daughter when—” 

The young teacher shook her head. “I 
have not posed,” she replied quietly. “Fred¬ 
erick has asked no questions concerning my 
family.” Then, again holding out her hand, 
she pleaded, “Marlita, won’t you be my 
friend?” 

But the girl whom she addressed tossed 
her head and left the room, beckoning her sis¬ 
ter and Lord Dunsbury to follow, which they 
did. 

When the three were alone, Frederick, 
whose astonishment had seemed to render him 
speechless, apologized. “Pardon me, Aunt 
Delia,” he said, “permit me to introduce to 
you my fiancee.” 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 361 


“Well waive the formality of an introduc¬ 
tion,” replied the woman, who, through half- 
closed eyes, had been watching the little 
drama. 

Then, turning to the girl in gray, she asked, 
“Are you the daughter of William Wallace 
Bayley whose summer home is in the Orange 
Hills, and whose winter home is in New York 
on the Hudson?” 

“I am,” was the quiet reply. 

It was Frederick Edrington’s turn to be 
amazed, but his aunt was continuing: “I 
thought so. With my former husband, Mr. 
James Haddington-Alien, I frequently visited 
your home when you were a very small child.” 

The young school-teacher stepped forward, 
as she asked eagerly: “You—are you Mrs. 
James Haddington-Alien? Frederick has al¬ 
ways spoken of you as Mrs. Edrington.” 

“Naturally, since that is my present name. 
Mr. Allen died long ago, and two years later 
I married Frederick’s uncle. But pray, Miss 
Bayley, why has the discovery of my former 
name occasioned you so much concern?” 

“Because you are also the aunt of the four 


362 


DIXIE MARTIN 


children named Martin who are our proteges 
here in the mountains,” Frederick began. 
But the face of the older woman hardened. 
“You are mistaken,” she said. “The .children 
of whom you speak are related to my first 
husband, but in no way to me; and, since he 
is dead, I see no reason why I should look up 
his poor relatives, and, what is more, I shall 
not do so.” 

The young man’s voice was almost severe 
when he asked, “You knew of their need, 
then?” 

“Some banker wrote me last year concern¬ 
ing these children, and I replied that I was 
not at all interested in hearing about them. 
However, I thought the name of their town 
was Genoa.” Then, turning to the school¬ 
teacher, who was finding it very hard to listen 
quietly, the older woman said, “Miss Bay- 
ley, if you will give up this ridiculous notion 
of teaching school and will come with me, I 
will forgive you both and take you into my 
home, but mind, I wish never again to hear 
the name of Martin.” 

“I thank you for your offer, but I have 


CLEARING UP MYSTERIES 363 


made other plans,” was Josephine’s reply. 
“When the spring term is finished, I shall re¬ 
turn to my New York home and take with me 
the four Martin children.” 

“Then, as there is nothing more to be said, 
I will bid you good-morning.” Haughtily 
saying this, the aunt left the room, and did not 
even glance at her second husband’s nephew. 

“Shall we tell the children?” was Jo¬ 
sephine’s first question as they left the inn. 

“No,” Frederick replied. “Mrs. Edrington 
is their aunt only by marriage, as she is mine.” 
Then he added, “Dearest, what a wonderful 
home you and I are to have with such nice 
kiddies in it.” 

“Aren’t we?” the girl smiled up at him. 
“We shall be happy just because we are all to¬ 
gether.” Then she continued, “I want to 
make those four little Martins the happiest 
children in all the world.” 


THE END 



























































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